With Saint Michael in my Bra

I can’t. I cannot do it. I cannot go to work tomorrow. I have a real--a palpable sense of fear. Again it doesn’t matter if the thing of which I am afraid is real or not, my fear is real.

Imagine that. Living with constant fear. Not necessarily just a specific fear: I fear that I will not be to understand how to make change without a calculator. You feel those specific fears, but you also always have a generalized feeling of dread. Like it a dark, itchy wool blanket is floating above you and at any moment, it may fall and smother you. It would be much safer to just stay in the house. Imagine truly fearing to leave your home—have to pray and steel yourself for, what is in your head, battle.

I am not the only one who feels that way. If I were then there wouldn’t be nut-houses.

But I’m fighting it. The darkness. With Saint Michael. I will go to work anyway tomorrow even though I fear and dread. I guess I could just choose to give into the depression and anxiety and just stay in bed. But, I won’t. Now if you asked me to go teach a class tomorrow, I would problem grab the first straight razor, but it’s just a salesgirl job. I can do this. (My legs are starting the shake, which is a symptom of an on-coming episode.  I could take a milligram of Xanax…

People who deal with clinical depression on a daily basis fight a battle every day. The Nuclear Option comes in when the battles get to be too much and too many without any victories. The itchy, wool blanket just falls and you choke.

What broke me? I have felt like this for years, but it’s only been in the last four years that the ability to function has been impaired. The defeats were just too much for me and I retreated. What broke me?

I see ground zero as March 27, 2012. The day my grandmother left this world in a sum total of 30 seconds. That’s when my world blew apart.

Was that ultimately a good or bad thing? Both?

Please let there be a God, a Christ, a Holy Mother, Saints, and a plan. Please.

I will opt for a cigarette over the Xanax right now. I may take that to sleep later.

Tomorrow: I will put my Saint Michael prayer card in my bra with my rosary, Saint Therese medal, and Guardian Angel token and go to battle. Having big boobs does have advantages. You’d be surprised what I can fit in there. That's in addition to all the medals and such I wear outside my clothes. 

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless.

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: Donald Trump is being accused of treason? On the night of the first female, yada, yada, yada—who is getting the press? The Donald. He ain’t dumb. How about when Hillary left the American soldiers and ambassador to die in Benghazi? That’s not treason?

UPDATE: The Xanax won.