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War All The Time
|It is 5pm. I feel nervous. Brief waves of panic course through my body and then start to subside. The airport seems so far, as does the ride back home.|
I am terrified at not being able to tell why these feelings happen. Mental or physical. Both, perhaps.
Bukowski attempts to distract me. The music is loud, and I am trying my hardest to get lost within it.
The lightning outside is becoming more and more frequent. My body is restless. I need out of this car. I have nowhere to go but on this page of paper.
If something horrible were to overcome me at any moment, sitting in the back of this car, soaring down the wet road, nobody around us would know. Nobody would feel it. Nobody can feel this.
They will drive. They will drive, and they will never know.
|Tags: journal, meds, anxiety, trip to airport, trapped in a car