#me or whatever

a conversation with my friend who does not think my suffering is Real

bonus:

anxiety at 2 am. art is my coping mechanism

>transcript under cut

I don’t think about the past as much.

My thoughts are consumed by what lays ahead of me these days.

Whether it’s an improvement, I’m not sure.

Still, they pour and they pour,

Unrelenting.

I want change.

But I am so scared.
I am always so scared.

What if it doesn’t get better? What if it gets worse?

What if, in the end, I lay in the tattered remains of who I was, no better off?

I am little more than fear in a vague person shape.

I stand still, unable to escape.

I want to feel free.

Is it a matter of letting go?

I do not know.

I have to believe things won’t always be the same.

It might sound naive, but I have to.

I know it won’t always be easy.

But, what else can I do?

I’m going to keep trying.