Previously hand-written on 5/11/17.

Maybe I’m like this because my mom did too much for me and now I’m inept.

Repeat:  Everything is OK.

I’m high.  It’s so nice.  I focus on weird things, not the things that cause the anxiety.

I wish I was married and had someone to rely on.  I guess I am dependent – or at least I want to be.  If I had someone I wouldn’t worry as much.

I worry about money a lot.  I think it consumes my thoughts more than I’ve realized until right now.

I can always fall back on killing myself.  If it gets too much I can die and it will stop.  I’d miss everyone.

Look at all those sentences beginning with the letter “I”.  So selfish I am.

Constantly looking inward.  That’s where the mess is.

Everything is moving slow, but my thoughts are moving fast.

Isn’t it amazing how I can take things that I think and make them appear on paper?  That seems like such a big idea.  People somehow are able to create a way for thoughts to be expressed and understood.  I’d like to travel to a time when people couldn’t talk, to see what that was like.  Totally different interactions.

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