I'm listening to Laughing With by Regina Spektor. Because it's what I need. Forgot my music for the choir show today. I nearly began to hyperventilate on the way there. Every song on the radio felt wrong--it didn't match the rising beat of my heart. As it turned out, Dr. Davis doesn't hate me. It also turns out I have every song nearly memorized. The old people in the audience thought I did it on purpose and they told me how impressed they were. I didn't argue with them. I let them believe this horribly false situational option. By the time our presentation was over, I was sweating horribly. My armpits were completely wet and the fabric was gathering uncomfortably. But there was nothing I could do about it without looking like a complete man.
Then I felt a little better, but the anxiety I had felt had thoroughly exhausted me. It was comparable to running a stinking marathon. So I walked, sweating, legs rubbing together under my skirt, back aching from the bruises from dance and the weight of my backpack, all the way to my car. Where are my keys? Yeah. I still don't have the answer to that. Grandma is coming to pick me up. Then I thoroughly intend to go home, collapse on my bed, and cry as if I had real problems--besides bipolar disorder, which I can't really blame in this situation. I suppose I can a wee bit. The near panic attacks I experienced TWICE today. I'll blame that on bipolar. But bipolar didn't make me lose my keys. That was allll me, baby.
I want a hug.
So, in conclusion (in the style of my fifth grade writing instruction):
1) I'm listening to slightly hopeful but mostly depressing as hell music because it reflects my mood.
2) I've had one near-awful experience today.
3) I've had one awful experience today.
4) I wish I was more responsible.