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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I'm frightened to 'just short' of death Frozen in unarticulated fear Making no noise at all, looking calm Skin crawls Ache in my ribs like I'm waiting to breathe Haze to vision periphery suggestive of just before fainting, but I don't There is no obvious panic I'd probably accept a cup of tea and hold a conversation well People will thank me for being helpful Shoulders are tense as I try to quiet internal monologues telling me unpleasant things And I feel sorry that I inflict myself on people (though I will remove myself with any indication I'm unwanted) Sometimes, if something upsets me I'll let the person know - it's a toss up whether that will make me feel worse or better but it leads to anguish either way because it lets the internal narrative get loud I'm really tired of trying to convince myself I'm ok And I tell myself how lucky I am that I get affirmation so regularly but I can't quite translate that to self worth I recognise people are happy in my company and it's not an effort to be But beyond the beginning and middle I fret The fretting is the 'just short' of death I mentioned It feels insurmountable, like the world is closing in and I'm so sorry that I'm so awful and I don't know how to exist here and what if I'm getting on your nerves like I get on my own, what if I'm pitied and I mistook it for like, what if I missed a cue and I'm outstaying my welcome... Then, usually, I hear from someone unprompted or someone sends me a picture of something I like they've seen on their travels or I get into flow and feel like somehow I was mistaken I try to look at my life and tot it up to see what it proves I'm successful at whatever I try and have no friendship issues, no fallings out with family... Some trauma that was situational rather than fault based I should be fine Not this I wonder if I sat long enough with someone telling me everything is ok, stroking my hair, taking on my burdens would I recover... Then the reality of the narrative hits I've nothing to recover from, this is self pity, melancholy, I should be ashamed... I'm sad I waste so many days with this I shouldn't tell anyone, it'll most certainly put them off me But it doesn't really matter as it's better if it does I've no energy for keeping up a pretence Luckily, my friends would tell me to shut up and I've clearly never met myself - I quite like that I don't talk like this poem, not often Just when I'm very scared Like today
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