Impenetrable

"Cheers, I'll fucking schedule my panic attacks during work hours." I was fuming. Mad. I could have smashed my head into a glass window and more. Guess that was a better emotion to feel than the overwhelming nothingness I felt yesterday. That's the thing with high-functioning anxiety - when, for whatever reason the functions pause, all you are left with is anxiety. Lots of it. I've been open about it, this weird feature my brain has. Certainly, it's not unique to me, but from what I see around me, I seem to be the only one with it. Maybe others like me have learnt the lesson quicker than me, or maybe they never tried to attend that particular school. I do not know which one is better or worse. To not have reached out to the world for support because you're scared of people being.. people, or finding out people are what they are after trying to seek help. What is worse, to have your hand burnt or to have never sensed how good the short few seconds of warmth feel? One thing about being me is I understand where people come from. Or at least I try to. So while I am absolutely fuming, I'm not sure why, at what, or at whom. People have their own plates full, with whatever cuisines, and may not always want an additional Indian flavour in it. I'm too hot for most people anyway. Sometimes for myself as well. My life moves in a helix, wherein I move forward, but my experiences seem to reoccur in cycles. Only negative ones, may I add. Positive experiences are speckled in far and in between, and that's why I cherish them so much. You'd think that after almost 27 years of existence, I'd be used to, or maybe even expect these negative experiences coming my way. But alas, no. Just like in a helix, they are part of a larger circle, and thus greater in severity. It's like picking on a wound covered up by platelets, stabbing a hot fork in it, and being expected to carry on like normal. Normal. What even is normal? Is it 'normal' having a good day when the sun shines and then shatter into pieces when it sets? Is it 'normal' to spend all your waking (sometimes even the not waking) hours thinking about things you can't help but think about, only to be told, "You need to stop doing that." Gee, thanks, that didn't occur to me. Honestly. Again. I'm not sure what I'm angry about. I guess I'm angry at the general social understanding or lack thereof. I think I am angry at the fact that I was maybe promised a shoulder to put my head on, and didn't realise that it was only available during 9-5. Sadly, my inner demons did not get the memo. They don't work 9-5s. I may be angry at the fact that someone else, just like many others, has bitten off more than they can chew when it comes to dealing with me and now I feel a little betrayed, perhaps backstabbed, even. No. I think I'm definitely mad at myself. For thinking once again that the general populace will get it. For believing that it would be different, thousands of miles away. For assuming that I was offered a shoulder. For being a burden, a liability, a pest and wanting to talk to someone I can look into the eyes of. For hoping that being open was the way forward. That experiment has failed. Doors have been closed on my face, and I am now in a chamber all by myself, with my thoughts bouncing off the walls. But I don't want to get out anymore. I want the walls higher. I want them thicker. I want them impenetrable.