Wrung in The Devil Beneath My Feet

I feel like a washcloth that’s been twisted and wrung out so tightly that it’s misshapen for life now.

Had an insanely bad day yesterday. Worst in a long time, if I’m honest.

So bad that I panicked and called 988 for the first time in my life. Never thought I’d get here but here we are.

And then I chickened out and “chatted” with someone from there instead, while hyperventilating and bawling like an idiot in my car in a CVS parking lot.

Surprise, they were not very helpful. Thanks anyway, Brooke. Lots of “I’m sorry you’re feeling like this,” which, 1.) is not helpful and 2.) what the fuck else are they supposed to say though? Yeah, Brooke, shit sucks. I am straight up not having a good time, thanks for the talk.

I bawled so hard I think I pulled something in my neck while trying to be quiet, I’m all sore now. Dumb.

I feel bad because after that whole…SHEBANG…I came home with Taco Bell for Eric and I’ve kind of iced him out since then. I stayed as far away from him as I could today. He’s sick at the moment and frankly I’m feeling hugely under-appreciated lately and I’m not happy about it. I’m not in the best headspace to have that conversation with him so I’m just..staying distant for an bit until I am able to have that conversation. I have a temper that usually simmers at roughly the same temperature as magma and I’m particularly volatile at the moment, I’m not interested in a fight and I don’t wanna say things that don’t need to be said.

He also doesn’t know I called 988. He doesn’t need to, he’s got enough of his own shit goin on.