half paralyzed by fear today

My voice is all stoppered up, tight, and I'm afraid to even go looking for it. Want to reach out, but not sure how. I know this sounds melodramatic and I'd like to stop. The solution is simple, I'm sure, but my stomach is twisted up and my hands and feet are cold. Probably not sleeping last night has something to do with it, and I'll feel better tomorrow morning, but only if I can sleep tonight. That means staying awake for the rest of the day, probably should get out and do something.

I need to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy. I'd like to see Clark. The weather is nice and I would probably be happier in the sun. And yet I feel inadequate to all of these, afraid of them. Maybe I should give myself the rest of the day to be twitchy and fretful, but then maybe I'll feel even worse tomorrow if I do.

Why does today feel horrifyingly open and empty, when I've just had weeks of no responsibilities and enjoyed all the space? It's analogous to agoraphobia, I think, but I can't work out the particulars. This feeling is self-perpetuating, doesn't want me to sort out why I feel this way. I'm calming down as I write, yawning. I don't want to sleep yet. Maybe some caffeine? Maybe some simple affection? God, the one's so easy but unhelpful, and the other's completely out of reach.

I want a lap to lay my head in, fingers in my hair. I want to not want those things. I want to curl up and not wake up until I know what my future's going to look like, and I know that's a self-defeating, irrational thought. Maybe I'll just settle for a some tea.