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My whole outlook has been changing. Public to private to public? I panic hard. I'm afraid of giving up control of my time. I'm afraid of getting stuck in a rut, afraid of not being worth anything, afraid of irrational things. I need help though. I need to start somewhere so that I will have started. I need to type my feelings out and keep them private instead of keeping them private and not typing or trying to sort them out at all.

I spend so much of my time panicking about what to do with my time. That poem... I shall break it down here bit by broken bit. :

1: Howling silence sirens, hounding and hassling;

- When I was in 3rd grade, I read a book with my class called "the Hatchet" by Gary Pulsen. There were a few lines in the book about the true rarity of actual silence; Legitimate silence. Starting from then, I would obsessively search for it. In order to be able to seek silence, one must pay it with one's entirety of being. It became exhausting, and enslaving. Silence became louder than noise; Bullying me into jumping out of my own skin at the drop of a pin.
2: Unraveling the sound mind with nuclear noiselessness.- My mind bludgeons itself in noiselessness.

-One second drones on infinitely; For centuries: Twelve hours cry right by on one tear-drop-wave, made by the blinking of your eye.
3: Expressionless essences, sequestering a senseless spectacle-

- I get so caught up contributing to the silence, it swallows me whole. It takes up more of my time than is acceptable, I exert nothing but nothingness for long drawn eons.

4:of deafening, candid canned-in energy..-
The energy that comes of exerting nothing but nothingness is greater than any other fathomable force of energy. It is of God; It must be. It is meditative, and sometimes it is more powerful than I am wise enough to handle. Especially when I feel so predominately negative and ashamed of my knot-ness.

5: Frenzied immensity, overwhelming.- The magnitude of my confusion infused with the force of this energy; cubes the overall force of this confusion with a dehibilitating lack of a hint for direction.

6: Swelling quelled well, bursting, surging.
- I am not a well; I'm a river, so i overflow and engulf myself with my own mouth.
7: Fury inferno; Excelling accelerant:
- Self destruction, In the power, in Powerful confusion, one's strength has become own weakness. Hero has become the vilan.

8: Diminishing minutes, instantly;

- panic makes time fly. Makes your time less meaningful,

9: Exacerbating incidents, significantly.

- What you are dwelling on, you will remember strongly while foregoing the moments spent ruminating; Paying them into the past, or the future. Not realizing 'now' is spent until it too becomes then, and you're trapped in the past, tumbling, fumbling; Looking back.
10: Passing in tense, intense, grasping intents.

- Presently; oriented to gaze into what is coming, or what has passed; Not knowing how to look at the moment in hand.

11: Instants, twice entwined in winding time.

- When you obsess about something which is about to happen, then; It happens, Then; You obsess over the happening of this moment; It has become thrice entwined in winding time. This is why it is wise to attempt to put as much time possible in the present moment.
(Fragment of a conversation)

Friend:: "to me all it is is a bunch of big words that rhyme together. there isn't much of a message like in most poems that the average reader would get. "

Me: Its about how i feel all wound up with emotion and i want to scream so bad i have so much pent up and instead i just sit in silence while this wildness just keeps growing in me
It makes time
Fly to boil this insanity in mu guts

It sucks and in addition to making time fly- it makes time suck too and its like a fucking contradiction because its fucking supposed to go slow when you're suffering
Why worry about the future now, or ruminate on the past with now when you've inevitably been there or will be there when those tenses are the present
Silence fucking eats me alive because then i get all weirdly quiet and i try so hard not to make any noise and i become so irritated by the sound of me setting a drink down on a surface and i start to wonder if my typing is waking up my family and i can hear the neighbor cough and i wonder if they can hear me do quiet thinhs which i even realiz while wondering, is fucking ridiculous..
But then i wonder since i can hear my neighbor coughing across the street; can my family hear my swallowing (natural swallowing) across the hall? So i start being all fucking weird and either start drooling so i don't swallow, or i get cotton mouth and i just have to stay so quiet and after a cetain amount of time that silence has been there; its impossible to turn on music or tv or anything and i eat myself alive for hours and hours
Also kind of with the feel of the words- choking out so many consonants actually gives you that sensation of eating yourself alive


I really need to get to the heart and soul of the matter of my panic. It's ultimately unmanageable, but life is becoming more intolerable than this anxiety if I just sit and let it consume me.

'Trust', requires a levvel of expectation which I'm unsure of how to approach, 'unpredictable,' with. Is it the expectation I hold for what comes, what is keeping me from appreciating the moment? I feel so full of sorrow over my grandma not needing me anymore, but is this not what I prayed for? Of course I want her to recover! What is the root of this sorrow? Fear; Knowing that the next leap is a greater risk than any of the last. Fear of losing control of my time; Fear of losing the drive to write, Of not being able to spend integral final breaths next to my grandma. Knowing that she is elderly, and I will have to part with her some day sooner than I'd prefer. Knowing that she doesn't deserve to outlive me, it would be an injustice. I'm afraid of my own doubt, my tendency toward suicidal fantasies; Knowing I would never come close to living out these fantasies. Dwelling, Nervousness, Worry, Dread, Fear, Sorrow, Strangled hope.

I know I am drawn to write, but still don't have a clue what I write about. WTF do I write about?!


Kismet Witstatic

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