Touchy Feely. No, Just Touchy.

Would that there were more "feely" in my life. Perhaps, I wouldn't be so goddamned paranoid - perpetually strung out on my own anxiety.

But as there is no "feely" there is only "touchy." And how.

My touchiness has reached such a degree that even the most inoffensive and unconscious slights on the parts of others create disproportionate searing wounds.

My living situation - not positive - but likely tolerable and weathered much better by someone who actually has perspective and language to give to her emotions so as to communicate like a rational adult. Somehow, I stumbled upon some coherent words at the beginning of this week (dame fortune, she smiles, or at least smirks, at even the most wretched and undeserving of us at some point): I talked. They talked back. A complete mending of fences it wasn't, but a detente of cordiality seems to have been reached.

And so, I then am left to focus more on the twin rivers of hostility I feel flowing around me via the banks of the offices surrounding mine at work. They are the Tigris and the Euphrates. I am Mesopotamia. Ah, who are we kidding, I am Iraq. Chaos and blight, occupied and containing several warring factions of varying ethnicity and origin. There is never good news coming from me. *Sigh* Do they hate me because I am odd or am I odd because they hate me? "Hate" is a strong word. I *am* being melodramatic. It's really worse than that in many ways because it is complete indifference. These two people walk back and forth past my office every day, as they do sit on either side of me, and nary a word is spoken. Then again, it may really be for the best. I am not exactly a bundle of fun these days and the amount of energy necessary to generate even a reasonable facsimile of conversation is seemingly inordinate. Given that it is summer associate season and therefore *every* night is punctuated by some event or Happy Hour, and *every* day is another opportunity for a lush two hour lunch all of problems are exacerbated. Even under normal circumstances, I think it would be a little much to have a fancy lunch and cocktail hours/dinner. Right now, I just can't. I really can't. So I say no, and try to politely decline. And I look weird and anti-social and hideous and pathetic, all at the same time. But I don't know that I would be better off if I accepted all invitations that came my way (or insinuated myself into the groups I see going on around me - Tigris and Euphrates do *not* invite me to anything) - if you do not drink, odd looks are bestowed upon you. My conversational skills as of late are clearly not going to win me any points. I am so tired, I cannot drink and/or have big meals 5 and 6 days a week. I can't. I barely hold it together as it is. I feel I can't tell people this. It isn't an explanation. It would clearly just be an excuse. How sad. But the truth is, I am sure everyone knows. I am a fucking nervous wreck and no one wants anything to do with me. Not really such a big deal with most folks. Casual acquaintances and work colleagues: It should not be for them to bear. It just hurts when your friends, or at least people you thought were your friends, think you are weird and want nothing to do with you. Tigris and Euphrates make me sad.

All of this being said: I realize that this is all probably in my head and I can't distinguish it. And that it isn't fair of me to expect anyone to perform hand-holding duties for me about now. It is definitely healthier to avoid me, and in fact, should be encouraged. But it still makes me sad.

I have a doctors appointment tomorrow. Missing last week apparently was definitely not a good idea. Maybe it is time to reconsider the meds as I am getting nowhere fast and the list of folks I have alienated is growing to double digits.

Pretty soon my depression will grant me my wish: I will be totally and utterly alone. Or else I am going to end up on that show on Bravo, Intervention, looking all puffy and red from uncontrollable crying agreeing to get on some plane at midnight with the clothes on my back and fresh bottle of Paxil. Or maybe Tome Cruise can get me some vitamins....