Listening to this whilst reading Marblehead by Rebecca Lindenberg
"not to be in love with you I can't remember what it was like
it must have been lousy"
My breathing speeds up and tires me out throughout the day. My panic is a constant low hum and it demands concentration to bring my breathing back. I know I need to work, and yet the work strikes such fear into me. I schedule regular breaks, and during the breaks I panic and fret. It takes me several minutes to bring myself back to the mindstate to do any useful work, and after very little time I'm rewarding the work with another rest. I set myself micro timers and feel tense as their secinds run out. Each alarm clenching more tightly into my chest and making my head throb and my neck crunch more tightly.
I never feel my work is finished, I always feel too scared to face it, and I constantly feel hot dramatic, breath-taking (in that they really do take my breath) pangs of guilt for not working on it, and I feel too crazy to tell anyone this is how I'm feeling.
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