Disclaimer: You asked about my childhood

I get drunk and talk about my mom. I get really angry when I'm hungry. There's a fine line between complaining and just generally hating everything, and I'm riding it like a an escort, sometimes in a similar vein, just going with the flow until I get paid.

I close my eyes instead of rolling them. Don't get me started on other people driving. Before coffee, you best not talk to me. Every morning there's a security guard who greets me at the door, I can't talk at 7am so I nod and give him a grim little smile, go to the coffee machine and pound caffeine like I might win an award for obliterating sleepiness. But then I can't take the anxiety drugs used to calm me down, because with coffee, the drugs make me shake uncontrollably, a seizure of two worlds colliding.

Did I mention I talk about my mom a lot? As it turns out, when you hurt someone, really get to the part of them that hurts anyway, and then screw into it like a screwdriver hell bent on breaking the screw, that gets to some good conversation points in therapy. I go to therapy. I go to therapy and rant about my mom, and bad drivers, and security guards who are too cheerful - I ask, are they trying to screw me, too? Are all people screwdrivers, and I'm the screw, waiting to be used?

I think I just need some coffee, or a drink. Or both. But remember: I can't take the anxiety medication with either one, so the anxiety medication doesn't get taken very much at all.