Pressure

There’s a lot going on. Much of it is unpleasant at best, actively painful at worst. It’s driving me mad.

Each little thing, each stressor, just gets crammed in, tamped down, squeezed into an already overfilled and not structurally sound mind. There’s no release valve; bringing up my grievances generally results in more stress or punishment. I can’t excise it through writing in any meaningful way, as venting my spleen in such a fashion is just as likely to have an angry mob descend upon me.

So it just backlogs. It piles up, crams my skull full of poison and racing thoughts and rage and hopelessness and despair. Note that the skull is already full of that sort of thing naturally, given past experience and chemical imbalances that remain untreated for a host of reasons. So there’s not a lot of room in there.

Still, I think I do a decent enough job at pretending I’m not spending 24 hours a day shrieking and destroying inside my head. I talk to 100+ people a day in short bursts and smile and laugh and take whatever idiot abuse they want to fling because they screwed up somewhere and want me to fix it and shrug when my supervisors ask how I never need to take a sanity break or why I never get snippy. I get up in the morning and go to work and buy my gas and cigarettes and coffee without it being apparent that I’d just as soon choke slam the clerk who makes a snide remark about my wrist brace or the way I’m wheezing or the funny way I say some words as hand him my debit card and say “thank you, have a nice day.” I endure 45 minute circle jerks while people are patted on the back for ridiculous things and their inability to manage simple tasks or pull their share of the weight is never mentioned. I managed to shut off my ability to weep for the most part a long time ago, so I never have those nasty circles under the eyes and the only time my sinuses are clogged is when my allergies are acting up and I manage not to point out the reason my allergies are acting up is because those around me have no respect for my needs or issues while they’ve put strictures on my soap, my smoking habits, my dishwasher usage and when I can shower so as not to “trigger” them.

But all that resentment, hate, rage, depression and frustration has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? Energy never dies; only changes or moves. Can’t let it out, god no. Not with a scream, not with blood, and it certainly isn’t leaking from my pores when I sweat or my sinuses when they finally drain after the scent of dead skunk and sage clears. So it just festers and boils and gets worse until I completely crack. And then it feels like this:

Head_Splitting.jpg

And then I just snap. Unplug. Shut down. Sorry, go away, nobody’s home.

That just makes it worse, of course. Stopgap measure at best. But what else can you do?

Long story short. TL;DR version. I haven’t been active because I’m having one of my quiet little nervous breakdowns. I’ll get over it. Eventually.

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