I have a very small

area of control over my emotional stability. Usually I have a good grip on it. It's like the handle to a very large pan. Although I am not holding the pan itself in place, the handle is attached in the right place and will hold the pan where I put it.

There are many situations in which the weight in the pan will become so heavy that the handle can't control it, it will break, pan and contents flinging themselves as quickly as possible to the floor.

As of late my pan has become severely full. The weight is stressing the connection to the handle every day, but I have kept it strong. The only way I can do this is by pretending that the pan isn't really so heavy by keeping myself so occupied I forget about some of the contents. Or concentrating on a few at a time lessens the burden.

Today, someone has the pleasure of reminding me of every single problem filling my pan to the brim. The funny thing about the contents of this pan is when you look at them, or pay any attention to them, they swell in size. So, when you talk to me about them, forcing me to remember every single one, they all quickly double in size.

So, remember, the handle is just barely strong enough to contain the contents even while most of them are their normal size. Just imagine what it's like when every single one of those contents doubles in size.

You can hear the ***SNAP*** for miles. The contents spread themselves evenly in all directions, a flash flood leaving carnage in it's wake.

Basically, and this is the short-winded version, I am not occustomed to stress. In fact, it's entirely new to me, especially at this level. My way of dealing with it is by taking it one step at a time and not worrying about the problems I can't fix yet, those whose solutions are far down the road, way out of my reach.

By reminding me of every single one of my problems, repeating the millions of possible terrible outcomes that I've already thought of repeatedly, you are asking for that handle to break. What I do from there has recently been a lot of crying, and strong desire to run in whatever direction will carry me far away from here. I don't like crying, and I certainly don't like feeling like I'm losing control over my desire to flee like mad, because it feels so perfect, so right.

I'm afraid at some point I wont be able to resist and I will just take off in whatever direction. I know, that just like suicide, it's something I'd never be able to do, which makes the feeling that much worse.

Most of all, I feel trapped. Like I'm being buried alive. Being clostrophobic makes this feeling ten times worse since I can imaging myself being trapped under six feet of dirt, unable to get out.

Just, please, really, I've thought of everything eight times over. I've cried enough. I know nothing will ever work itself out in my favor. This isn't fantasy land, I'm fucked. So, what I'm saying is, don't walk up to me and say,

"Hey, Brad, you're fucked! You have any idea how fucked you are? Holy shit, you're fucked! Man, you sure can't get out of this one! Wow! I never thought someone could be such a fuck up!" Woohoo!"

Or, even worse,

"So, what do you think is going to happen?"