Paranoia

Paranoia.

A nagging sensation of unease.

I can feel myself slowly being submerged in it. The emptiness. The anxiety.

I feel like my bones are filled with lead, yet at the same time its as if I'm hollower than the bones of a baby swallow, gasping for air as I fall from a tree of uncertainty.

Everything feels fake, my life is a lie, these people are all lying to me and I have nowhere to turn, nowhere to run.

My heart beats fast and my hands shake as my nose runs a marathon and my mind races to the end.

The end.

When will it be? When will I be done? I need a break. I need to pass the baton. Please, please, please. Tag me out I can't go any further.

They say stamina is supposed to improve as time goes on, but these long nights of uncontrollable tremors simply drain me of energy. I'm left exhausted, my limbs as weak as my resolve to continue on this path and my eyes as red as my bleeding heart.

Empty, yet filled with unrelenting pain that refuses to die.

Paranoia.

Are my friends actually my friends? Or do they stay with me because they have no better option? Surely they must think horrible things about me. Surely they must see the mess that I am and be waiting for an out. Surely, surely they will leave soon.

In a haze, I count the days as if they were passing sheep. Each sunset and sunrise confirm my reality as the hurt sets in deeper. This is my life.

I'm all alone.

I have no one. I'm not worthy of love. I'm not worthy of companionship. Even the detrimental, abusing, and wretched love from horrible excuses of human life is too good for me.

No one stays.

This is paranoia.

Staying up late at night wondering who is plotting against you.

Peeking out your windows, wondering if someone is lurking outside.

Waiting for the opportunity to catch them in the act so people will believe you.

Having to check and double check your locks, your belongings, your life.

Did someone slash your tires? Break your windows? Spray paint horrible names around your life?

Or did they hurt you in ways you don't yet know?

Did they turn what's left of your friends against you? Did they drag your name through the dirt? Did they tear down all the hard work you've done over the past few years to build yourself up to forget feeling like this?

Nice people finish last.

It doesn't matter how nice you are. How accommodating. How understanding.

You can be the most giving person on the face of the planet and people will always find a way to replace you. You're nothing but a number. A number that gets weighed down as years go by, adding digits one after the other until there's too much to carry and it gets out of hand.

No one really cares about you. No one wants to know your struggles. No one sees how much you love with all your heart and no one wants to see you live.

Paranoia.

They're all coming for you, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.