False alarm

Oops. Looks like I pulled out the fire extinguisher for a piece of burnt toast.

I sometimes think about how it’s impossible to know after the fact if you’ve overreacted to a minor threat or if your overreaction is precisely what kept the threat from growing and eating your head.

I’m glad that I didn’t actually lie down on the subway floor the other day. I only got a bit anxious and found it a bit harder to cope with conflict. But, here’s a grain of salt to chew on: when I say a bit anxious, it’s kind of like a skydiver saying that a skyscraper is a bit high.

Do sane people spend much time wondering whether or not they are sane?

I don’t think so either. Maybe the very fact that I’m over-analyzing my thoughts is evidence enough.

Skip this paragraph if you don’t want to read about that mom who is always gloating about her perfect lucky life and the effectiveness of her psychiatric medication cocktail. I feel so fortunate that I got a whole week of inner peace.  Well, not exactly inner peace, more like inner nothingness. I was able to get out of my head and focus on the world around me. I was a wonderful break from having to constantly question my reality.


You should be. Here’s a picture of me:

Selma Smoking
I’m too sexy.

4 thoughts on “False alarm

  1. You totally are.
    I’d drag my cheek across them legs…creepy?
    I get what you mean. I often think about the time when I was all boring and normal. My reactions to situations are way out of proportion. WAY. OUT. OF. I’m going through some family stressors (an undiagnosed parental asshole) which are normal, but it keeps me up at night and day and during the times when I nap…kidding…no one naps ever.


    1. Just wanted to make sure you know that’s not actually a picture of me. I mean, my legs sometimes look like that but I don’t wear heels or smoke; and also, I’m not a cartoon.
      Also, undiagnosed parental assholes are the worst! I have two of my own and I keep trying to forget about them but they’re like a horrid ex-boyfriend that you can never really get over. I’ve actually diagnosed my mom with borderline personality disorder. Sucks.


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