A bright room, shared with someone I love. A dark hole, a vast emptiness.
A comfortable bed, just enough pillows. A hole, deep and bare.
A nice moment, companionship with my love. Terror abounds, I’m more alone than I’ve ever imagined.
Leisure time. A punishment most vicious.
I watch her at peace, as I crawl from the inside out.
My mind screams, as I realize I’m hurting her.
There’s no other choice. I must leave.
I flee to my computer. Please dear computer, save me from myself.
It tears me up inside, she’s down there all alone. There’s nothing I can do.
Watch t.v. Relax. Breath. Go back to bed.
Sometimes, the very thought of my bedroom is enough to bring me to tears. Don’t get me wrong, I love my fiance, and I love going to bed with her. It’s claustrophobia. A drive, a terror, a need. There’s no accounting for anxiety. It has no rhyme or reason. It has a life of its own, and that’s all there is to it. It sucks balls, but it doesn’t go away for wishing.
There’s no deleting entire parts of your brain. There’s no erasing anxiety. It’s insidious, anxiety. It’s a total pain in the ass.
I’m sorry anyways, Jenny.
Have a good day, all!