:: :: me but not me :: ::

Even when I’m doing OK, when I’m not crying or totally flipping out, I still feel this underlying dread. Helping my mom dig a hole to plant a burning bush in her yard, shivering every time the shovel hits a rock, and another rock, I’m me but I’m not me. I’m laughing at her or looking things up in a book for her or driving with her to Walmart for some emergency brown planting pots (need! them! tonight!) but at the same time I’m just sort of vibrating inside. My cells are all twinkly, only their twinkliness isn’t good, it’s bad. It makes me feel panicky instead of happy. I am champagne without something good to toast.

I am champagne that worries.

I feel like I’m standing at the top of the highest high dive waiting to jump off. All the time. I am continuously on the verge of diving into the tiny little pool all the way down there.

That’s what it feels like.