It's just...hard. You know?
It's kind of hard, I guess.

I don't know if 'hard' is the correct adjective to explain the situation, though.

Maybe... Difficult.
Resistant?... Rigid?

Are there too many spaces between my words?
Are there too many words?

Is it too long? Yeah, maybe it's too long.
But I like the words I used.
Everything was explained perfectly.
So what's wrong?

Is    there    not    enough    spacing    between    my ­   words?
Are there not enough words?

Did I not say enough?
Did I say too much?
What got us here....

Maybe I'm just scared so I close up.
Maybe I'm too much of a mess, that me being busy is an only escape so I don't hear myself think.

I hate hearing myself think.
I hate the quite outside, but the white nose inside.
You know?

That there's so much noise going on, you start to tremble
because the anxiety just stomps on your chest.
It's just hoping that you somehow die from the pressure.
It's just somehow hoping that your heart races so fast that it just...
Stops.
Or explodes.
Either one works for anxiety.

If I told you everything that went on in my head, would you even consider staying anymore?
If I opened up more than what I already have, would you even consider wanting me?
Not wanting..
If I opened up more than what I already have, would you even consider needing me?

I just don't know what to say.
You know?
There's so much going on, I'm speechless.

My mind is racing but it's blank.

That makes sense, right?
That there's just so much going on in your head that it...Crashes.
That it just stops functioning for awhile.

I was going to ask how you were today...
But I felt that if I did, you'd get an anxiety attack. So I kept to myself..
I mean, I opened up to my best friend,
but he isn't you.

Nothing seems to blossom as quickly anymore.
Or at all.
Kind of as if my writing has this long, long, pause for awhile.
No matter how passionate my fingers want to get,
I sit here.
Fingertips shaking slightly over the keys on the keyboard.
My mind just sprinting with things to say but nothing ever goes to the screen.
It's like theres an indestructible barricade that stops just at the very first knuckle before it gets to my fingertips.

Then the passion leaves.