“Are you mad at me?”
Stare at the words. Will asking make it worse?
“Are you mad at me?”
Press send. Or delete.
“Are you mad at me?”
............... Send. Sent. Now to wait.
“Are you mad at me?”
It’s been ten minutes. Has it been seen yet?
No.
Anxiety.
“Are you mad at me?”
30 minutes. What about now?
No.
Anxiety. My chest feels tight and...
breathe.
“Are you mad at me?”
It’s been 45 minutes. Surely by now...
No.
Something large has taken up residence in my rib cage and it’s hard to breathe. My anxiety has been joined by doubt and self hate.
“Are you mad at me?”
They’re ignoring me. I know it. They know what this does to me. They know.
“Are you mad at me?”
1 hour.
My skin itches and crawls. My nails demand blood as they scratch. The weight in my chest has turned violent.
“Are you mad at me?”
1 hour. 30 minutes.
My heart is trying to escape the storm within and I can feel it banging on my ribs demanding exit. They’re ignoring me. But what did I do?
“Are you mad at me?”
Does the punishment fit the crime?