oh the insecurity
random impatient dane: "stop saying sorry all the time!"
"sorry.. i just don't want to be a dick all the time."
he was a young one. 21-22 or whatever. i am soon to arrive at thirty. apparently my millionth second here on earth is somewhere in that age. perhaps thirty-one. i'll probably forget to celebrate it.
"saying sorry is meant to communicate that i am humble and aware. it's nicer for people to know that than to percieve me as a self-obsessed cunt robbed of any regard for my surroundings."
his reply was to look at me with obvious mixed feelings.
i reckon he's secure in his life. not lonely, not isolated, not primarily alone, not alienated and fucking terrified since he doesn't really belong anywhere. that's me, though.
the age difference means that i have endured more hardship thus far, the result of which; i am damaged goods.
my eagerness to reflect endlessly over everything and then never arrive at any conclusion apparently sends me into this dazzled state of confusion and paralyzation. i halt in every turn. forever cornered by my overactive brain. how very fucking fantastic.
i can call it a habit. but, whether it's bad or good - no idea. not a single clue. (that's convincing, anyway.). i probably need to think about this some more. yeah.
i panic a lot. lot lot lot.
in the grocery-store. on my way to the grocery-store. at the bus-stop. on the bus. in the car. on my way to the car. inside my house when somebody obviously sees me through the window. what is actually happening in my body? brain in overdrive. distortion. hard clipping. brutal clipping. "oh shit, what if (insert any individual) thinks this and that, what did i just do, how will they react, everything i do is wrong in every way, i am toxic waste, people deserve better, what the unholy fuck am i putting them through" etc. niceness, that is. i spiral into a heavy adrenaline-rush and cortisol chock. my pulse triples. heart exploding. billions of neurons committing suicide.
i do, however, search for a way to change this. it is difficult to find a more justifiable approach due to my relentless insecurity. hah. moronic paradox.
i truly am stressed right now, just thinking about this whilst trying to relax on the couch. since i can't shake this intense sensation of being painfully wrong in them previous sentences.
oh well. all is not well. or is it? can't decide. won't decide. in my experience, people benefit greatly by my absence. what else does one need to consider.
the end.
OR IS IT.
