I want to like you. You're supposed to reveal the true me. My highest potential. My disorder is a disability. I shouldn't go about life with my chaotic thoughts. After living 19 years, I'm expected to accept you now. That's what others have told me. One in the morning, daily. When I take you, I feel lost. Sure, anxiety seeps away with becoming a worker bee. Part of me goes. I miss the scribbles. Walking linear is so repetitive. Looking at the little girl with glasses makes me cry. Never in her life she would've thought of taking you. I'm scared of hurting my heart and mind.
