Here's the thing about letting yourself need something. It means you're vulnerable to anxiety about its loss. I have pushed away anxiety about loss for a very long time now. I've recently started opening myself back up to it, by allowing myself to have things that I actually need. This is a terrible feeling. Any sort of threat to my need is this unfathomably dark, huge, stressful thing. Even if it's fucking tiny. Even if it's manageable, with just a little bit of intelligence and effort. Even if it's mostly fictitious. Even if I know all that, in my forebrain.
None of that matters. The only thing that matters to my brain is the potential for loss.
I hate this. I hate being like this. I was listening to a song that, in my youth, I would have drawn comfort from today. It was a song bemoaning the idea of being you. I wish I was young enough to have the luxury of not wanting to be me. Of wanting to be somebody else. But I gave that comfort up along with the willingness to indulge in self centered catatonia. I don't have time to wish to be somebody else, I'm too busy fixing who I actually am. And sometimes, that really fucking sucks.
None of that matters. The only thing that matters to my brain is the potential for loss.
I hate this. I hate being like this. I was listening to a song that, in my youth, I would have drawn comfort from today. It was a song bemoaning the idea of being you. I wish I was young enough to have the luxury of not wanting to be me. Of wanting to be somebody else. But I gave that comfort up along with the willingness to indulge in self centered catatonia. I don't have time to wish to be somebody else, I'm too busy fixing who I actually am. And sometimes, that really fucking sucks.
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