Anxiety to the outside means racing thoughts.
Their not racing, their forcing themselves into my head, maybe me think I’m going crazy.
No, no, running my hands over my face and through my hair, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy. It’s an attack. It’ll pass.
I look back at the mirror barely noticing I’m there and yet way too focused on my features trying to figure out who’s looking back at me. That’s me? In the mirror?
I barely notice me. Someone come find me. Tell me that I’m normal. That I’m okay. Holding my hand over my mouth, I’m fidgeting, I’m stifling my own screams.
I hear everything, I see everything. I can’t calm the pain. I just keep saying I’m okay and that it’s nothing, because I don’t even know what to say.
I could scream, my mind is so loud that I just stay silent and run my fingers through my hair with my pounding thoughts that just rain over me that make me want to apologize over and over for being this way.
I’ve been here before, I’ve been here a million times. It just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t get easy it just feels more familiar.
Hand me another drink and maybe I’ll slowly convince myself that I’m okay.