I AM STRESS.
I was the nut talking to myself in the middle of the street.
I made my roommate read a newsfeed for one of the Texas blogs I frequent because I panicked. Stabbed in the gut, plastic bag over my head, panic. I see white space with black little sticks in all the wrong patterns. That is my nightmare. After all it’s happened before. Even after chatting to myself all day that I had conquered and surpassed the evil test from hell, I freaked.
I hate myself.