I know I said storytime, but we will have to push that off a little bit and let me ramble as a panic wave washes over me. I know a few of you like the stream of consciousness stuff, and if you are one of those people you are totally in for a treat right now.

I am not panicking for any particular reason. There is no trigger to it, I think it is the Dark in the world. The Dark in the world we are all stumbling through half-blind, reaching out with hands long bereft of fingernails and bloodied by scraping against incalculably infinite walls in our struggle to find something even vaguely resembling order, freedom, health, safety, love, honor, and faith. We walk in these endless tunnels that we make for ourselves and even if we are happier than we are not, we still refuse to admit that we are in the Dark until it is so all-consuming that we are in the fetal position screaming for parents who never loved us and friends that are far away and busy with their own lives and loves.

We cry streams and rivers, lakes and oceans worth of tears that burn so very badly with shame and regret and even the faintest thoughts of hope. We cry and yet here we are, still in the Darkness that eats all things and we know that there is an ending ahead and it will NEVER be the one that you desire, want, crave and need. We weep for the future and the past and the present and it all gets wrapped up in a horrible ribbon made from blood and twine and regret.

I know that I embarrass you. I know you aren’t proud of me. I know you don’t love me, like me, want me, need me. I know all of these things and I will come and beg you to do all of those things because how can you fucking live without it? How do you fucking do it? All of you, every damn day, HOW?

There are shadows, even in the Dark there are shadows. I can see these shades that make me think those I love the most hate me, think I am worthless and a burden and, worst of all, that they don’t think of me at all in the Dark as I think of them. They do not crave the attention I do, I know this, but they never cared, not at all. It is the best of all the lies to tell the blind man he is surrounded by the wealth of nations. I am so blind right now, blind to the hope that people seem to have that I just cannot feel no matter hard I try. These shadows make me want to just say fuck it and throw it all away.

No, not death. Death terrifies me more than everything else put together. Death is the thing that will finally get me, as it gets us all, it is a thing that I have been hyperventilating about since I was seven years old and my sister and brother found me under the table in the dining room begging them to make it brighter and not let the Dark take everyone we knew. I know it is a fucked up anxiety and depressive thing. I know the medicine is supposed to make me feel better. I KNOW that there is no truth in the things I feel, but you really think that matters in the Dark of the Night in the forty-degree room when you wake up sweating and trying as hard as you can not scream until forever?

There are shapeless things that frighten me not because they are scary, but because I can tell they are not. They are different and different is scary and scary is what drives me mad and crazy and makes me write this pseudo fucking pablum you are feasting on as we speak. I will reread this in an hour and laugh at myself for being so fucking stupid as to write down the lightning flashes and plane crashes that are in my head all the time. Who wants to hear how little bear bear is terrified of the things that go bump in the Night, even if the Night is only in his head and only lasts until he hears from those that melt the Darkness away?

That is the fear you always ask me about. That is the airplanes and the crazy talk and the panic and the worry and the sleepless nights and the heart palpitations and the cold sweats. This is what is ALL. THE. TIME. in the stupid chaos that is the inside of my stupid think locker.

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