Self-Sabotage
Subconsciously, I am a self-sabotaging anxiety ridden idiot. Other lovely qualities include OCD, hypochondria, periodic episodes of depression and mild dementia. I do it to myself. I get a chest pain that probably stems from the garlic-filled dinner I had the previous night before and officially declare it a heart attack. In the mornings, I buzz around like a lunatic out of breath while noticing I had just drank about two cups of the strongest coffee ever, which brings me straight into a panic attack. After counteracting the effects of the java with a couple of magical ativans, I simply ask myself: is it safe to venture out into the world? I feel too tired. I feel listless and exhausted. And then I have the nerve to say, “I have no idea why I’m exhausted,” followed by a, “It’s another sign of a heart attack.” It’s a vicious cycle I through more than I would like to admit. After one of these lovely episodes, my fridge is filled with nothing but organic greens, veggies, soy pro...