Back at the beginning.

The monster is so close. Close enough that all day, post the very early anxiety-attack morning, I've wondered off and on whether it might be worth trying to get in with a therapist.

Ha, ha.

With what money? With what trust?

I feel awful. When my head was racing last night I thought I had a lot of things to say about it, that maybe writing them would help. Maybe writing anything would help (isn't that a thing we used to do?) but all my thoughts are falling apart like wet paper.