The Pounding in my Head Drowns out the Voices

The last thing I want to do is sound like a broken record, but the usually dormant craziness is rearing its ugly head again. I don't like being in my apartment. I pace the length of it and rub my arms to try to ward off the hurtful hands that reach out for me. My heart pounds from paranoia. Paranoia of what? I have this overwhelming dread. Of something unnamed and unseen. But I can feel it. It's right behind me. And I can't stay in this place and let it take me. But I can't go out into a world that doesn't really exist. The fear makes my heart pound so hard and I wonder if my chest can hold it in. It makes my stomach flutter and I recoil from food only to suffer from hunger pangs hours later that I'm afraid to alleviate. The only time I feel a reprieve from this distress is when I'm in the shower singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane".

I was on the phone crying to my mother the other day and inbetween the sobs I asked her, "Do you ever get upset by the fact that you got stuck with a crazy daughter?"