It's all in your head. Even with being out in the open, with everywhere to go, I feel claustrophobic, my jaw is clenching, and everything is closing in. It feels like everyone is watching me. All eyes are on me, critiquing me like i’m about to perform an opening act that’s supposed to be jaw-dropping. But, instead I’m falling, tripping over my own feet, stumbling on every word. Tomorrow will be another day and life will go on but what I felt that first night stays and still haunts me like no time has passed.
You're not good enough. My breathing has shortened, there's an ache in my chest, and all I can hear in my mind, chanting, is the same thing over and over. My hands are pressed at my head, pushing the headphones, willing it to stop. As the music gets louder, it becomes the only thing I start to hear ringing in my ears and my heart stops beating as fast. I'm searching for a way to get out; a place to escape – a breath of fresh air. But it hurts worse this way; I end up getting a taste of what I’ve been craving - needing - but then as quick as it comes, is as quick as it goes.
It's not real. You're crazy. As I'm having to pause at every corner trying to catch my breath, I'm wishing my hands would stop shaking as much, and that I wouldn't have to fear walking just one more block. I haven't found myself in quite some time, and it's been a long time since I've even been myself. I hold my breath before I try to explain what I'm feeling, because the feeling that comes after the looks, feels worse than the beginning. It's crazy to think how what once was, can be tainted by the thoughts swarming around in our minds that have stemmed from the thoughts that are made into more than ideas that are graciously given and unwillingly taken.
You're too closed off. I have learned to hide any other emotion that doesn’t involve happiness. I've evolved into art; frozen statues and emotionless paintings. I've become pieces in a museum that people talk about. Once the doors are closed and the lights are turned off, I can breathe without fear of opinion. Even though that should bring freedom, I only possess fear of communication, even if I am the only one to hear and know my own thoughts.
It gets better. Everything is not perfect, nor is everything the same as it once was. But everything is getting better. There are days and nights when waves come crashing down, but it gets better. I am able to breathe, and I am no longer pulled around by anxiety; something that [does not define me]. Rather than halting my progress towards my destination, it is only a reminder to breathe, and enjoy the travel. It may be part, but it will not be my full past, present, or future. I am my own and I am a fighter.
