I Have Sweatpants On, Pulled Up Very High... I Am Writing to Myself...

Unworldly panic has captured me again. I'm shaking with clammy palms as I type this. I'm through with thinking. I hate trading. I hate the world wide web. Tired of sentences. Feeble. Please, rid me of the human condition. Can't read. Tried to venture outside during daylight hours and after I took this digital photo at a candy store window, I completely froze up in nameless fear. Holy shit, my hands are sweaty. I have sweatpants back on, pulled up very high. I am ruined. I have no serotonin. It's getting dark again. Reduced to pure spinal cord functioning. Writing this out of compulsion, still sentient but losing rationale; acute anxiety I am familiar with but the onset still ravages me every time...I hope my bipolar frequency regresses to the mean, and soon... I beat Death in Jenga again... I am writing to myself.