So here I sit, on my sofa, knowing that in roughly 26 minutes I am supposed to be at the funeral home. BF is late. It’s out of character, and I called where he went to breakfast, and was told he left slightly after 9. It’s not 40 minutes from here. It’s maybe 15. At most. Trauma brain is now in full DANGER mode, thinking he’s dropped the bike/wrecked/been run over/abducted by aliens….etc. I fucking hate this shit. I was never batshit crazy BEFORE. Now, it appears to be the new SOP. I’m getting really, really, anxious. I hate that. I hate that I can’t be just pissed off at him for being late, but have to be this new worried/pissed hybrid. Fuck this.