I only write today to put down some of what I’m feeling.
I suppose this anger has its root in resistance, in wishing things to be other than they are…wishing myself other than I am.
My frazzled, anxious state. I detest feeling this way, but this is the way it is.
Anger at my inability, my disability, dysfunction.
I slightly changed my voicemail message. A while back I recorded a message telling callers, basically, “I don’t make or answer phone calls; hang up and text.” I re-recorded the message today, using my improving accent.
I get a lot of automated calls, so no matter what the message says, it won’t make a difference to those.
Sometimes, I get a call from “private number”. I wonder who’s on the other end of that line. But, while curious, I don’t spend too much time thinking about it; if they wanted to reach me, they’d text – or, as I said in my re-recorded message today, use a carrier pigeon or send a smoke signal.
I know I’m getting worse, and it makes me want to withdraw more. I dread any social encounter; my nerves are frayed.