rambling on to no one

Everything is wrong within me; everything

The feel of my clothes, the breath in my lungs—

they feel too... heavy, tight, much. They feel too much.

Maybe I feel too much. Maybe I think too much. Maybe I am too much.

Maybe the world is a never-ending cycle of too much. And maybe I am drowning in it.

But what it’s all just in my head? What if I am really okay? What if I am really not okay?

Which is worse? Which is the reality I live in. What if it is neither?

What if I am this in-between of okayness, and sanity, and humanity.

What if I ask too many questions? What if I am asking the wrong ones? What if my questions themselves are the answers, and the fact that I have to ponder my sanity is answer enough.

Help me. Help me get out. Out of my own head out of my own life out of my-

Drowning and failing and breaking and falling apart over and over again.

“Help me” I cry as I do nothing to tell you I am not okay.

“Help me” as I appear normally in your day and normally in speech and action and conduct.

“Help me” in the moment you turn away

“Help me”

But you never do. Because you never know. Because I never tell you in any way you’d understand. And because I never tell you at all.

-Annelise

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