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each complaint seeps into my skin and mingles with my fears.
My brain continues to short-circuit, reacting as if I am under imminent threat of death when I was just doing my hair.
Ambiguity breeds overreaction. I should know. I’m the queen of biological overreaction.
Humans are remarkable in the way they adapt to change, even change that makes them uncomfortable. They block out what they can’t accept and simply move on with their daily lives, even if that thing stares them in the face. They stop seeing it. Their brains are magical like that. Problems become part of the backdrop, and they just keep going. Maybe that’s why I have anxiety. I am bad at adapting. I must not have this gene. I cannot stop seeing the problems. I cannot ignore.
