The Most Outlandish Tale About Anxiety and Depression Ever

Scroll down to the stars to cut right to the story, which started here. Today I'm posting a wee piece of fiction as part of a blog hop, Adam's clever idea inspired by the anxiety that helps him write stories.

He says: When you think about it, having a freak out episode, or an anxiety or panic attack, or a grey matter meltdown, or whatever you wanna call it, is nothing but a series of creatively fabricated events that never happen. It’s fiction. A lot of the time, it’s really good fiction.

I've had this same realization about anxiety and storytelling; perhaps the gross tragedies unfolding in my mind (and torturing my soul) are not morbid and sick but a misdirected imagination, an overzealous desire to fabricate another universe.

But I never knew if this was true or simply an excuse for my paranoia. Until now. I feel so much lighter. How do you feel?

To start reading the story from the beginning, go to Adam's blog.

Here is my 200 word contribution, the 4th installment in the series.

***

On the other side of my window, branches and leaves whisper secrets, teasing away my exhaustion.

It's just the wind.

But if the wind is actually a man, and if the man is coming to steal my car, and if I didn't pay the insurance as I suspect, I will most likely end up sleeping on the side of the freeway. Drinking fumes during the morning commute instead of coffee. The car is far from paid off. And public transportation around here is as sparse as my eyelashes which I pluck from my eyelids when no one is really paying attention. Including me.

I drag my rattling bones out of bed to check on the car. But when I get to the front door and reach down to turn the lock, chills drip down my back like an egg cracked on my head.

It's a sign.

Better for my car be dissected and sold off in pieces than my body.

I climb back in between the sheets, checking for the jagged knife stashed between the mattress and wall before succumbing to my bed's embrace. Who needs a lover when you have a down comforter and plenty of imaginary friends with benefits?

Sleep assaults me and I am safe. Until my dreams take over.

***

Now go visit the blog of the brilliant author, Ericka Clay, for what happens next!

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