I look at the machine that was supposed to help me feel less tired and fight the impulse to smash it. The noises from outside won’t leave me alone—not even on a Saturday. Big truck beneath my window, incessant loud industrial sounds. It has been thirty minutes. I should leave. Go somewhere. Anywhere. Just drive. Go look at TVs at Best Buy. Do anything. No. If ANYTHING goes wrong, if someone is even slightly discourteous I can’t trust what I will do. Take out the trash. At least do that. I feel paralyzed by fear. I can’t. I don’t feel safe. Fascism is approaching. Must learn to defend myself. Another tomb. Wherever I go I create tombs. Tears. Life is too much. What are minor irritations to others feel like burns to me. Stabbings. I’m bleeding everywhere and my loneliness doesn’t feel like a choice if I am to keep myself from staining others people. More noise. Vacuums? Leaf blowers? And now sirens. I stop writing for a second and place my hands over my ears. More tears. More sirens. Different ones. The kind you can’t trust. Accident? Act of violence? I feel like I’m shaking from the inside. My limbs are steady but my insides keep vibrating. Buzzing.

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