Perpetual fear

Remember when you were a kid and you did something you knew was going to earn you a trip to the woodshed? A lot of us kids when I was growing up had a place the old man would drag us to give us the “board” that was far enough out of the way that the whacks and screams wouldn’t make it back to your mother’s ears. That way the old man wouldn’t have to deal with her bitching about being to hard on you or risk getting the “It so upsets me when you do that” speech from her. It’s that feeling of impending doom that you had all afternoon waiting for the old man to get home from work I’m talking about. I live with that feeling almost 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

It’s a constant, nagging sick feeling of anxiety turned physical like when I know something rotten is going to happen – a company big shot is about to fuck with my job,  I’m too broke to fix the car and I know that every time I use it there is a 90% chance it’s going to strand me somewhere, you can feel your significant other slipping away into the arms of someone else – in some way there is nasty music to face. It’s going to hurt. You are going to bleed like a stuck pig and there isn’t a fucking thing you can do about it.

It’s why I chase drugs to self-medicate. It’s why I call in sick to work when I’m not sick. It’s why I often times sit alone and cry for no reason.

And it’s why I want to die.