i h8 u (seriously)

20

For some reason, I was feeling awfully anxious today. I couldn't seem to get myself out of bed to even go to the toilet or brush my teeth or make some food. I kept my phone abandoned on my bedside table, my brain spiraled and felt it was too much effort to even reach over to pick it up. It was probably worrisome to my friends and followers because I've been off the radar, but I couldn't seem to get myself to care enough.

When I felt plagued with anxiety, my entire being becomes paralyzed. With my panic disorder, I feel panicked and anxious constantly, but I've lived with it my whole life. So when I panic a little less, it's normal for me.

It's days like these though that makes me wish my mind wasn't disabled. How I wished constantly that I could go out and just get groceries without worrying, or drive my car and go for a road trip, or reach out to a stranger I see on the streets because they have pretty hair or something along those lines.

Evening had hit now and I was still in the same position on my bed as this morning. I could hear my phone pinging every so often with notifications of who knows what, but I genuinely didn't care to answer them. I felt sick to my stomach as if I was going to throw up every second. Honestly that was probably a mix of the anxiety and not eating all day. Whoops.

There was a knock on my front door as I was trapped in my head, but I refused to get out of bed. Plus, it was like eight at night. Who would even be here? They probably had the wrong apartment and they'll go away.

They did not go away.

Instead, I heard my front door open and George's stupid voice shouting throughout my apartment. It only caused me to roll my eyes and turn my body towards the door instead of towards my setup so that I could look at George when he walked in my room.

"You haven't been answering your phone today," he said, his facial features softened when he laid eyes on me.

"I shouldn't have given you a house key," is all I said.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, stepping over and sitting at the edge of my bed by me. I shrugged and it's like he could read my mind despite having no information, "You're feeling a bit anxious?"

I nodded my head and threw my face into my pillow. Seconds later I felt George's hand on my head petting my messy hair. We sat like that in silence for a few minutes before George started speaking again.

"Everyone's been worrying all day you know."

"Sorry," I mumbled, turning my head towards him once again.

"No don't apologize, you can't control it. Have you eaten?" I shook my head, "C'mon lets go cook something."

"Don't make me get up," I whined.

"C'mon!" He grabbed my hand and started tugging me out of bed.

"But I'm not hungry."

"You're not hungry because your hunger receptors have turned off or some shit from not eating. I don't know, something like that. Those thingies turn off."

"God you're so lucky you're cute," I rolled my eyes.

"Did you just admit I'm cute?" He smiled at me with that stupid face.

"Oh come on, it's nothing you don't know. The whole internet tells you this."

"They tell you that too."

I glanced up at him and furrowed my eyebrows.

"What, you don't see what they say about you?" He questioned, equally as confused as me and taking his seat back on the bed. George pulled out his phone and opened Twitter, "See look, this is my timeline."

He handed his phone to me and I proceeded to scroll through his timeline. There was a little bit of fan art and some pictures of him compared to cats, but everything else seemed to be about me. Screenshots from my streams and positive threads about me.

"Why do you follow so many fans that tweet about me? Don't you get tired of that?"

"I could never get tired of you," he grinned, patting my thigh, "I'm gonna go make you food. Pasta okay?"

I nodded my head and watched in confusion as he just dropped that bomb and waltzed out of the room like it was nothing. God what is up with him lately? He's been so out of pocket the past few weeks and says things like that, then up and walks out of the room. I mean, I'm glad he walks out because I have absolutely no clue how to handle it and it gives me anxiety most of the time.

Jack was over at Niki's recently and I went to keep them company, and may have overshared a bit. Jack suggested that I just talk to George about it and clear the air, but that in itself gives me as much anxiety as the things he says.

"Pasta's cooking, I left my phone though," George said, snagging it from the bed and walking back out of the room.

"George wait!" I shouted, scrambling out of bed and chasing after him.

"Oh look who's out of bed!"

"Oh fuck off!" I laughed, shoving his shoulder.

"Nice outfit," he chuckled.

I looked down at my outfit; there was nothing wrong with it. It was a pair of red pajama shorts with corgis on it and George's corpse hoodie that he left here last night. He left it right on the bed and it was cold in my room. It's justified. I didn't want to get up to grab a hoodie from my closet. That's a long walk from the bed when I could easily use the one meters away from me.

"What's wrong with it? I was cold."

"The timeline wasn't wrong when they said everyone was attractive in a corpse hoodie."

"You are so fucking annoying."

"You love me," he smiled, grabbing the utensil to stir the pasta.

"You wish."

"I don't have to wish, I know," he tasted a noodle, "Anyways, the pasta's done."

There he goes again, saying something weird or out of pocket and then completely dismissing it. While that played on my mind, I grabbed my portion of pasta and sat next to him as far away as I possibly could get on the two seater couch in the living room. He gave me an odd look, but turned towards the tv to continue watching what he had just put on.

"You confuse me," I said under my breath while we were halfway through eating.

He must've heard because he cocked his head towards me and smiled, "That's the goal."