I am not physically alone, but in my mind every person exists away from my capacity to perceive their presence. They are shadows in a world of enclosed anxiety. How do I rid my brain of the racing, of the disappointment, of this feeling that only leaves me feeling alone? Claire de lune plays in the background, bringing me back to the day of my youth. That day I sat under a tree and felt separate from my whole life. I was trapped in agony. I am not just alone but I am trapped in agony. Being alone is one thing but the fear of being alone even when people surround me is agony. Agony that I may never feel better again but that instead I am destined to be alone. People keep telling me to find someone, to go out and meet people. But I don’t have the capacity nor the drive. I sit not in bliss but in fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. My heart feels a hollow hole, that brings the air of my lungs to a standstill. My brain understands that I want to scream or cry, but instead I sit. I sit and write about the banality of my existence. About a fear that should not be fear. I sometimes think about every action that I can commit. My mom says that I have a freedom she never conceived. But she doesn’t know what its like to live in fear: a fear that eats away at potential and freedom. I always move. I move so that I may never have to face my fear. But when it slows to a standstill, I have to struggle to catch my breath. I can’t breathe. The slogan of those who encounter police brutality applies so banally to my existence. I can’t breathe because my brain won’t stop racing. It keeps telling me that I am a failure, that I am not worth it, that I am not pretty. Pretty as though beauty matters to not being alone. Perhaps I am seeking a tangible reason for the loneliness that entraps me. I am alone. Some days I feel okay. Some days I feel the scattering of my sanity. Something touches me and threatens my stability. Can we even call my stability sanity or can we call it a coping mechanism that only fails to generate permanent change. I left so many people in the past. I am alone and yet I am not so alone. Writing helps to bring my racing thoughts to a standstill and I suddenly feel okay. I am writing to understand my brain.


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