I’ve almost always felt alone. Even when I have the sincerest of friends stand by me through the toughest of times. That’s what anxiety did to me, I blame it. I go through terrible things that people go through with me, but I’ve always been convinced something terrible will happen to me, me alone. Staying alone is something I crave because that’s how I escape the noise of the city. But I’m never truly alone either, all the rooms I’ve ever taken are to me, and my thoughts. 

I can’t make friends, because I’m always “seeking validation”. These thoughts aren’t rational, I’m not rational. But I battle the fear that I might be stranded, in the middle of nowhere. Or I might be stranded, exactly where I am, for the rest of my life. I would have killed to be where I am, and now I’m just afraid I’ll stay here forever. 

Planning is a curse because plans are meant to fail. A day behind in schedule is all it takes to send me to damage control mode. I count the pages I need to read, and the minutes I can spend on one page so that I don’t fall behind schedule. I have no faith in my abilities so I make the schedule such that I work as if I had an extra hour above the 24. I fall asleep on my notes and the cycle goes on. By the end of it, I have only made failed attempts at controlling damage and not getting enough work done. Ah, another reason to be anxious after this cycle of being anxious. 

Everything feels like the end of the world, even after I pass it. Everything, in prospect and in retrospect, feels like the end of the world. Every small thing feels like the gap between me and where I need to be. Is it a perfectionist trait? But what good is perfection if I refuse to give a shot at things, I can’t achieve perfection in. Will I ever achieve perfection? No, I know I won’t. 

But hey look that other person did two jobs, made software from scratch, got admitted into their target college, and presided over the United Nations Security Council, so that’s where we set the bar. 

They said they’ll do it and there’s no problem, but what do they know. They just do this as their full-time job, they don’t know everything can go wrong because it’s me. 

I like falling sick because that’s the only time I just don’t do anything. I’m a waste of all the money my parents have put on me. Fuck it I’m also a waste of the money I’m putting into therapy. I shouldn’t be here. Just getting through each day is a task on its own. I’m giving myself time, 6 months? 8 months? A whole year? What if I am not better at the end of it. I will never be better at the end of it. Now that I live alone, that’s where all my energy goes. I cant accomplish a single thing now that I’m alone. That’s just facts. I know these facts just how I know.

I am calm right now, but still scared. I’m aware I won’t be calm for long. I’m aware I’ll have another panic attack and gasp for breath, feel like I’m drowning, and hold the air I inhale. I’ll have another itch I’ll feel the urge to scratch. I want to enjoy it until then, but I cant. 

I’m constantly on the surface of the water, drowning but getting back to the surface. The process is rapid. I have the water in my nose, ears and feel it in my eyes. I’m trying to stay afloat but I’m barely able to. Would it be better for me if I just let myself sink? Maybe, but I’m too afraid to try so I’d just gasp for lost breaths wondering, what if I just drown.