Mouse's Brain (should die)

Uptight, edgy, like a cornered animal with nowhere else to go. My natural state of being no how much I try to alter it. Always paranoid, predicting calamity and judgement day. I figured out the coffee's not blame for me being jittery and jumping out of my skin every time a door slams. No, it's something more. Deep in the inner working of my brain some gear isn't functioning properly, like a badly wound clock that perpetually chimes the wrong hour. What is wrong with me? Why must I lie awake at night and ponder the fears tomorrow brings? Day after day, I dance around like mad with a swollen bladder that threatens to explode, weighing the pros and cons of using the dreaded Public Restroom. In the end, I wait. I always wait, somehow concluding it will become less scary in a few hours when I am truly desperate. When I was a little kid, my mother would watch me hop around while performing the rituals of the pee-pee dance. The she'd proceed to yell "You know your going to give yourself a bladder infection, don't cha? She was right. I did. Mother's always seem to be right. Mine never seemed to understand the dangers I saw lurking behind every corner. Or why I stood paralyzed in indecisive fear because I had already consulted the endless list of scenarios in the given situation and all of them ended with me getting judged or yelled at.My fears are like tree roots burrowing deep into the soil of everyday life
and soaking up nutrients in the form of social situations. They root me in the past, denying the future. One of my biggest fears is that no one will understand my fears and help me overcome them. I will talk to the shrink as I promised. And when I speak, the words leaving my mouth will never reach her ears. They'll be sucked into some dry, cold, infinite vortex in the space between us. My words will turn into worthless jetsam drifting out an eternity in between ocean waves. You can probably tell by now that my analogies are as endless and rambling as my fears. I guess the reason I'm writing this piece is to allow myself to step back and laugh at a lifetime of fear.
Although they're are quite real to me, from an outside perspective they might seem silly and meaningless. A part of me is hoping that writing about it with the lead of this pencil will write away my fears, and this eraser will erase the possibility of being diagnosed as as beyond help, being told I'm crazy and nothing can be done for me. MAYBE.