I'm rippling with anxiety and there's no clear end in sight. I know several others are feeling this way, or worse. Things could be so much worse, but I can't stop feeling as low as I do in my particularly appropriate moment. I'm typing this as a means to deliver myself of my woes. Listening to some metal and power typing (or writing) has been my method of therapy for a long time. I've not spent a long time dwelling on the heavy thoughts as much as I've poured years into writings I will never share with the world. Dark thoughts, nightmares, fears. I'll write them and delete them like they never even happened. Gone. I don't think or feel it again. Maybe its healthy maybe not. This is just rambling at this point. There's not an ounce of try in this whole paragraph.

Now its two. I never considered the kind of obstacles that would break me. I've been at a breaking point several times in my life. Somehow my sanity has remained intact. Its kind of empowering to look back and realize how fucking easier everything was back then. Back when I thought I couldn't carry on. That I wouldn't make it through. I can keep going right? I know I haven't done anything on here in a while. I never really made a friend. Just kind of typed some shit, liked some shit, and sauntered on to other things. I don't even know if there is an audience I write to. Some blank faces that just take in words and have nothing to say? Or is no one even there? Just a void of information, letters, phrases swirling around in cyber space. Yuck... Next paragraph.

So, back to my anxiety. I've had a lot of personal stuff happen that has put me in the "scary calm". You know, the intensely calm person in a group of people freaking out? Do that for a month and a half. There's a deadline coming up and I'm just not sure if I'm prepared to handle it or the rammifications that come after, if the stipulation isn't met. Out in public people scream "Pandemic!" at home my family is blissfully unaware, in my head there's spiders everywhere. Eight-legged doubts crittering about in the dark parts of my mind. The deep shadow parts that seem to go on forever. Like tripping into a hole and falling a long long while, deep. The kind of fall where you don't get back up, deep.

...I'm falling there now.

The palpitations are a warning,

The onset of anxiety forces me deeper into my mind,

He’s coming for me.

*I didn’t do anything wrong! I was saving him from you!

Harboring the fugitive,

Fighting on the wrong side.

*You can’t wait until this happens to me? I didn’t do anything wrong I was just trying to help!

Footsteps echoing on pavement,

The white t-shirt reflects the streetlights beaming with dull yellows above.

*I don’t have to justify anything! I wish it happened sooner!

I cling to myself,

The adrenaline is burning in my veins,

My eyes dart around the corner and your shadow is lurking.

*He’s free and I’ll keep him safe from you until I draw my final breath!

My legs quake and give into the chase, my past bearing down on me like melting skin on a hot iron.

My bare feet burn against the asphalt, painting them blood and black as they slap down harder and harder with each footfall.

*I hear you breathing down my neck, I’m just a mistake and I’ll never amount to anything, but I’ll do better than you!

I run faster and faster until my lungs give out.

You’re right behind me, a shadow attached to my heel.

I can’t keep this up anymore, my tired bones give into the fatigue.

*He’s safe in my pocket, you can look all you want, but you’ll never find-

The thoughts go blank as the blackness strikes, hard against my heart.

I lose my footing and fall down.

Another barrage of attacks.

Assaults splintering wounds all over my arms and legs.

Each scar splayed open, blood screaming out of my skin.

“Fuck You” rips open my leg, each word of you screaming into my memories fade into static, each heartbeat flaying my chest wider open.

I scream until my throat bleeds.

The cold air crystalizes around me, freezing me in place.

The abusing motions stop, my eyes open.

The light from my pocket shatters the ice around me and I smile.

*You’re still safe, at least for a little while.

Seating arrangments were altered in school to signify a new semester. Always a nightmare of mine to be surrounded, warm bodies all around me in the center of the classroom without the exit door in sight.

***

The blinders have activated like eager demons delighting in my delusion.

The catch in my throat, signals the onset of a flood of palpitations.

Glancing around the room, I’m surrounded.

There are people in front of me, behind me, breathing.

It’s so hot and I can’t see the door.

I can’t see anything but the desk beneath my clenched fists.

Knuckles white as bone, the panting begins.

I struggle to catch my breath as the spots in my vision appear.

Blinking and thinking, it’s the thinking that keeps me locked into position.

I try to flex my hands, but they hurt.

I can’t move them, pins hold them in place.

Hot glue melts my skin and sticks me to my seat.

Ice pierces my lungs and it’s getting darker.

So much noise, like static amplified by each body in the room.

Where the fuck is the exit?!

My eyes dart back and forth and my lips have died, numb and useless.

I’m shaking, my body, my breath.

My elbows once feeling the pang of pins and needles, are unfeeling.

I’m freezing in place; it’s sweltering in the air, in my head, everywhere.

I can’t get out of my head, it’s filling up with more thoughts and I can’t leave the madness.

SOMEONE HELP ME I’M SLIPPING AWAY!

I’m plagued by the question of what happens to the undead if they, assuming "they" had a consciousness, decided to commit suicide? Can they die? If the undead die, where do they go? The living already have guessed where they may potentially end up. Do the undead go to the same place? Do they have a special undead land they arrive at once they choose to die? Do they have an undead hell? What is undead heaven like? This is why I don’t share my thoughts.

I believe the purpose for any writer is to be their own voice, some do it for the fame and some do it as a hobby. I'm going out on a limb to say most writers want to be heard or at least acknowledged before they die. Lord knows Poe had a shit life then suddenly became a household name, after he died. I wouldn't want that. I would hate to be "ahead of my time".

I write for you,

The scribbles from my pen delight your eyes,

Hope begins to swell in me,

Joy drips from my veins.

I write for you,

Like an attention starved child,

The ink fresh with excitement,

The longer you read the wider I smile.

I write for you,

Addicted to the encouragement,

Pushing you to continue on,

I need this more than I ever had known; its a feeling that I’ve never missed, it has found itself a home in my chest.

I write for you,

You’re reading too fast,

You’re not understanding the spaces in between the nonsense,

I need this, please, my work demands more than a momentary lapse.

I write for you,

The font is bolder so you see it’s deep,

The meaning is louder so you don’t have to think,

Desperate becomes my own pens’ ink,

I WRITE FOR YOU,

YOUR NODS DON’T FEED ME AND NEITHER DOES YOUR LAUGHTER,

YOU’RE NOT READING IT RIGHT,

I NEED YOU TO BE THE HAPPY I AM AFTER!

I WRITE FOR YOU,

THE LIGHT FONT REPLACED WITH RED,

COMPLACENT YOU PUTS ME BACK IN MY HEAD,

I CAN’T BE IN THAT PLACE ALONE, NOT AGAIN!

I WRITE FOR YOU,

THE LINES ARE BLURRY AND UNREAD,

MY SKINS LIE WADDED UP IN A PILE UNDER YOUR BED,

I AM LOST WITHOUT YOU, PLEASE READ THEM! PLEASE READ THEM! PLEASE!

Alone I take a step,

I grow larger by the movement,

Each twirl throws me forward in time.

The normality of it entices another step.

I twist around to face another,

The stranger grabs ahold of me,

His touch is cold, burning my skin,

He’s leading now, urging us to spin again.

A new face is now in toe; stepping and sliding along with me, pushing the cold man into the darkened corners of the room,

A beautiful creature made of porcelain, perfected warm,

Encapsulated by his eyes, evergreen and hypnotizing,

His lips press against my neck pulling me closer against him.

Another woosh as I birl once more, the man is older than before, and I as well it seems,

He tries to sweep me off my feet, but a cold breeze grabs him away from me,

Into the dark I step alone.

I whirl around again and again, hoping the man returns, desperate for his light, it only grows darker still,

I’m panicking, picking up speed as I rotate faster and faster,

I cannot see and it’s getting colder.

I step again, embraced by the cold one once more,

I push and rip my hands away, they burn from his touch,

A sickly grin sticks to his face as I wheel about and step away, he catches my hand and pulls me back in, whispering my name.

I let him hold me, let him lead, my bones so tired of spinning. I step one last final time, the cold man disappears,

I close my eyes and hold my breath, I no longer feel cold. I don’t feel anything.