I think I'm addicted to anxiety. The feeling of filled to the brim. Of about to burst at the seams but holding it all in
that.
That is. Lovely.
I'm addicted to frantic motions. Waves of hands. Beads of sweat making oceans of your skin.
Someone once or twice or three times told me if you are nervous, good. It means you. Care. And Somewhere in my mind anxiety became equivalent to progress.
I do not know how to not have trembling hands and racing thoughts and to do lists for miles and miles and miles. I do not know how to sit still. I do not
want
to leave empty space in my mind for bad thoughts to trickle in and they always. Do.
If I am not nervous I do not care
If I do not care there is no point
If there is no point my life does not matter
I will Not live a life that doesn't Matter.
So I find the anxiety again and allow it to root itself in my chest. Since it is better to feel
This.
than
nothing.
