That brain chatter is back, torturing me with all sorts of imaginings. The crazy thing is I have only to have the thought to generate feelings as if the thing itself is happening. Like when you wake from a devastating dream and for a moment you feel broken, sure it was real, and it takes a while for the vapors to dissipate. Except in this waking dream the vapors cling. Why do I always choose the most catastrophic interpretation of benign events? I feel bereft this morning, shattered by figments. I swear it actually feels like a fist around my heart, squeezing it to smithereens. I want to run away, not deal. I probably need to just sit quietly today, not talk, maybe immerse myself in work.