We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers. 

kaboom

Let me clear something up, immediately. I am not a crazy survivalist type who stores up rations and first aid kits and jugs of water because I believe that there is an impending Dooms Day at hand. I am not afraid that there will be some huge world war, or nuclear holocaust, or what else is there — Armageddon? The Rapture? Whatever. None of that is anything that preoccupies my mind very much.

However, whenever I consider maybe going in for some treatment, as many of my friends and acquaintances do, as many friends actually recommend that I try out, I get a very real fear that if I do so, if I give in and just seek outside help, then the world as we know it will swirl down the drain and we will be living in a nightmarish post-apocalyptic situation where it’s every man for himself and all prescriptions will stop. So all of the medicated people will lose it, either physically or mentally or both. And I am not like “I want to keep my wits sharp!” I’m just like, if I got used to relying on mood stabilizers, I think it would be even more difficult to manage things in that situation. Sorry I can’t restructure society into something that is hopefully better, because my body is dealing with withdrawal and I can only sleep in this hollowed out log with a scrap of a blanket and cry. I mean, I probably will be doing exactly that, but I want it to not be because I am having medical withdrawal symptoms. Those somehow sound scarier and worse than what I’m used to.

I think this concern makes a lot of sense! But I guess in the back of my mind, it does seem slightly dramatic. And maybe like I’m making excuses. But I’d rather not cause end of the world just because I was too tired to go on like I am. Maybe you all should be thanking me!

halp

Clear communication is extremely important to me. I try to maintain a large working vocabulary so that I can choose the precise word I need for any given moment. If I don’t explain something clearly then that is time wasted and I can’t live like that. Being able to express myself to another person in a concise manner is possibly my most valued skill, in myself and others really, and I can’t overstate this enough.

But then some days, I can’t do it at all. On the day of this comic, not only could I not find the right words, I was actually saying the complete wrong words. I was WRITING the wrong words. I couldn’t hear or see, either. It was a mess. I was a mess. It was making me all in a tizzy. I still sometimes have these moments and I still worry. What does it mean? Am I okay?

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I’m a fairly tense person on even the calmest sorts of days. Ever since I was very small, I have fretted over so many inconsequential things. Several years ago, I began getting anxiety attacks (and one or two panic attacks, which I consider separate, worse things). Why is this? What is to blame? Could it be a complicated matter of brain chemicals malfunctioning? Or maybe it is a very simple matter. Is it the state of the world? Do I actually care that much? Is it too much coffee? No, I will never blame coffee for anything! Maybe it is just the act of living and aging and getting older and turning to dust oh god how is anyone ever able to relax?! Should I see a doctor? Probably, but I don’t have time for that! I’ll see the doctor AFTER I’M DEAD!!

Anyway, one day I was feeling pretty anxious and went to Chris for some sympathy. Ha ha, no, I was not that delusional. I only kid you. I simply happened to be speaking to him at the time, and he did that thing he does so well: make it clear that he was low-level annoyed that I was not entertaining enough because I was experiencing a rough day. BFFs.

Click the image to see me being ON EDGE up close and pixelatedly.

Who, I ask you!