I Feel Myself Coming Undone

Every day is a struggle. Anxiety and depression are formidable foes. My whispering optimism needs to step up it’s game.

I could lose everything.
I could gain more than I’ve ever dreamed.
This is a scary ledge to be on.

I shake.
I cry.
I spin around through scenarios.
I move from room to room trying to arrange the furniture.
I plug a hole here only to find a new one over there.

I was asleep for too long.

And my head is fucking killing me.

Someday this will all make sense.
So says an oddly optimistic voice inside.

I don’t believe him.
I do believe him.
I don’t believe him.
I do…

It doesn’t stop.

And my head is fucking killing me.

I sit down at midnight.
Suddenly it’s Tuesday.
Time flies when you wallow.
Time flies when you don’t.
Time never stops flying.

And my head is fucking killing me.

And somehow, I’m still sober.

I can feel my life unravel.
I feel myself coming undone.
There was no traumatic catalyst for this.
There was a series of inevitability that came to be.

A slip here.
A fall there.

A step up.
Another down.

Things that needed to happen to break my cycle of disappointment.
So says that oddly optimistic voice inside.

But I was waiting for results.
Waiting for change.

It’s time to stop waiting.

Because my head is fucking killing me.

Because somehow, I’m still sober.

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