Fuck fuck fuck

No words
Churning gut of worry
Wondering if you are ok
If you are hurt
If you need help
And can’t say
You say that it’s fine
But the word choices aren’t you
And the worry ratchets up
Are you under duress
Or is it some mood I haven’t seen
I’m inches away from doing something foolish
Or brave
You can never tell which
Until after

Something happening

Did you ever get the feeling that you made a mistake? That you said something or did something that you did not see the consequence for? That it felt like the other shoe had dropped and you didn’t know why? I’m getting that feeling now. I wish I knew what had happened, wish I knew what I’d said, or done. Or what someone said that I have done or said. It’s the OR I find more likely. I can’t think of anything I’ve said or done that warrants what seems to be coming. Maybe I didn’t do something, that seems pretty likely. I’m notoriously bad at reading signals.


The last time I felt as full of nothing was in the dark times after I lost Sara. I don’t know where or why I feel this way. I don’t understand it.

I worry that I’m losing myself again. That this sojourn into open, honest emotion is somehow coming to a close.
I worry that I will find who I’m looking for. That I’ll be disappointed when I do.

I worry that I’ll fight for someone and do us both a disservice.

I worry that I’m sacrificing pieces of myself to write. That I take more validation from people liking my work than I do in the work itself.

I worry that if I do find someone to share my life with, I’ll fuck it up.

I worry that my obvious deficiencies are why, despite looking and trying, I’m still alone.

I worry that Sara was my one chance and by not going with her that night, I failed her. I failed us. And my not finding any lasting relationship is my just punishment for my inaction.

I worry about how I’m perceived and am hurt when people see me as other than I intend.

I worry that my need for control is becoming destructive.

I worry that my desire for chaos is a sign of a lack of empathy.

I worry about my lack of guilt.

I worry that I’m drifting away from a real friend.

I worry about all of this and more.
I’m not constant in my worry, I let my subconscious handle most of it. But it’s all there, swirling in the background, even if I don’t act like it. It sits, leaden in my brain.

It’s why I occasionally wake, heart racing from a panic attack. Deep unconscious being one of the few times I’m out of control. Some of this, I just don’t have the strength to carry. And I’m approaching a time when something will either break or some of it will fall away. And I worry what I’ll lose this time.