I dropped my pencil it fell under the table. I left it there. I desperately wanted to continue to write -but- anxiety told me no. Told me it was impossible. There were too many people in the room bending down would look awkward disturb the person next to you make you a pitiful inconvenience-- so I left it there. I couldn't even pick it up when I left. Because Anxiety was right, it was an impossible task.
I really liked that pencil, curse my fumbling hands.
I am a disorder; one made up of irrational fears of time and forever being alone. I am a disorder; with blinding insecurities that question my own reflection and who could ever love me. I am a disorder; where my ribs bend with worry, my lungs burst and I can no longer breathe. *I am a disorder; and my disorder is me.
Irrationally rationalize for my craving heart exactly why it is that you & I should share these emotions, this feeling, these overwhelming sensations that leave us petrified lost in one another's body? spirit? soul? Just lost, no bounds, no ropes or chains to find our way Just connected minds feeling bodies reaching hands bewildered souls enhanced experiences of our aching bones
I want to bolt, run away, escape while I can, before I'm in too deep. One glance from you and I know- I fell, too deep, long ago. I couldn't run if I wanted. It's too much! Too fast! Irrational! my brain cries out. My heart has no room for reason. It reacts to you, and you alone. All senses beg with me step back, reassess, calm down breathe... But how can I breathe when you are constantly taking my breath away?
