“Ants are in the Sugar”

I watched Iron Man 3. Just finished about thirty minutes ago. My mood heightened, I took a shower. Refreshing as it was, something cracked. And instead of reflecting on all the Iron Man action, a voice – the voice – crept up and whispered doubt in my ear. The next moment, I’m out of the shower and texting (I didn’t send it) a person I don’t have the right to complain about. “Why don’t I function anymore?” But did I ever function?

Depression and anxiety aren’t strangers in my life. They’re old friends. They know my haunts. They know my tricks. And over the years, the ones I mastered to keep them in check are beginning to fail me.

Socially awkward by birth, over the years I’ve perfected the proper responses, vocally and physically. I never speak unless spoken to, or have something of importance to say. I keep my wording to a minimum when sending an e-mail. When I lose control of my emotions, however, the surface cracks and my truer self springs free, spreading the venom throughout my mind.

And I start losing myself in a fiction I created.