If depression lies (it does), then anxiety tells the Aesop’s fables of the damned

I had a lot of crazy running on a loop through my brain during that two-hour drive home the other night. And most of yesterday. And when I woke up this morning and immediately burst into horrible ugly almost painful sobbing (all before coffee or even peeing).

But I’m coming back into me. Nowhere near right, but I can see it’s possible in the far-flung future.

And I’m trying to slowly sort through the terribly mean things my brain whispered in the dark. (Poetic license there. My brain was no sly subtle Grima Wormtongue. My brain was more like the demonic mirror reflection in a horror movie. The one that looks like a real reflection but with an evil smile demonstrating the noose. Or maybe closer to the magic book in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader that shows Lucy how her friends talk about her behind her back — with just a hint of that demon mirror reflection thrown in for flavor.

Or maybe it’s more like a whole slew of neurons cross-firing all at once while drowning in a dopamine-serotonin-norepinephrine-GABA gumbo.)

Anyway, I’m trying to sift out the bits of reality in the rumble jumble of nightmares.

In other news: one of the people at the small gathering-turned-chaos party tested positive for Covid today. She says she’s feeling mostly okay. Got some meds. She is vaxxed so it should be a mild case. Thoughts and prayers.