It’s another day of feeling overwhelmed. I’m on high alert for… something. I don’t know what. But something.

It’s not really depression, I think. I’m not sad but so full of energy. I don’t fear that something bad is going to happen. Somehow, I * know * that it will.

When, to who, and what is a mystery. But the constant feeling of being on guard and expecting disaster has stayed with me all week.

It might have been there even longer but was amplified when we went to the state fair. Instead of seeing happy families and people on dates, I saw people spending money they didn’t have, unaware of inflation, and of the general state of the world. I saw parents and children eating highly processed foods that they couldn’t afford and would ultimately place money into big corporations and, eventually, big pharma.

After all, they strive to keep us alive until we’re nothing but unusable husks, our money, youth, and health bled dry. We’re left to become dust.

And people are buying into this. They are at the fair. They are spending car payments for three minute rides they stand in line twenty minutes for.

I could be exaggerating but not by much.

As per the shrinks, I tried to ‘reframe.’ These people know what’s going on. They’re educated, intelligent, and aware. They are living their lives because they’re brave and want to set a good example for their children. They believe that one little indulgence… like a deep fried golden Oreo, won’t be harmful and they all budgeted for the expenditures.

Of course, rationally, I couldn’t believe that. I can’t lie to myself. If that was true, people wouldn’t be losing their homes, their cars, and the credit card debt wouldn’t be so high. Obesity, diabetes, and heart attacks continue to climb while Nabisco, Unlivelier, and other companies stay in business.

I just can’t believe it. I can’t reframe. I lie. I lie all the time, especially to myself, but I can’t lie about that. For some reason.

And so, the anxiety continues.
If something is going to happen… rather it be Covid 2.0 or WWIII, it needs to happen soon.

I don’t know how much more mental strain I can handle.

I guess it doesn’t help that I’ve been thrown off my routine a bit. Wednesday is typically Centerstone day. I see Kara at Centerstone who attempts to make me feel like crap but tends not to be successful. Then it’s an hour of yoga. Well, more like half an hour after sitting there for 30 minutes in “mindfulness” meditation. <BS> Then, I’d go to Wal-Mart and pick up a couple of things like cherry pomegranate juice. Maybe go to Target and look for discount turkey. Head home. Get caught up on games and wait for Jason.

Kara wasn’t in today, so I redid the deck. And I need to redo it. The spots I missed and places where the stain sank in are really obvious. Cleaned house some. Did some laundry. Made stuff peppers. I’m waiting until about 4:45 to cook them so they’ll be fresh when Jason comes in.

Classes are over and I’m on summer break until September fourth. They ended fairly well outside of SIX STUDENTS. Four demanded that I accept late assignments after the class ended. Hard no. One I had to because she bitched to her advisor. One actually had a miscarriage. That’s the only one that’s understandable.

Course… I have to wonder if she was Covid-vaxed. The college I work for is out of New York. Did she lose her child because of the vax?

Inquiring minds certainly * do not * want to know.
I don’t know if I can take it at this point on my anxiety filled month.

Part of what is feeding into all of this is the Charis Center – particularly Heather the neutralist. She keeps claiming that I’m not eating enough calories to survive. My organs are going to go into system shock at any minute. I’ll die a horrible, lonely, and painfully.

Despite… my weight not going up or down for over three months. Maybe I’ve stabilized. Maybe I eat so much protein that it becomes glucose. Carbs isn’t the only way the body creates energy. Maybe I’m doing okay. It’s just going to take a while. I know from the heart doctor that my good cholesterol is three times higher than a normally healthy person. I’m doing awesome.

But maybe I won’t, and it isn’t.

I can’t trust myself and, when I see mom and she ask passive/aggressive questions… Are you eating carbs…? and looks at me like I’m going to just fall over…. I can’t stand it.

But I can’t eat a slice of pizza either.

That’s probably where part of my anxiety is coming from.

I’m afraid of not being able to start the truck again. I’m afraid of not being able to start the mower. I’m afraid of going back into a psyche ward.

And the Charis Center, especially Heather, has become a physical embodiment of that.

So…. screw them.

But, for some reason, I’m not afraid of dying or the pain.