The Beautiful Panic.com

There are no times when I’m not. I know what kind of human being I am. Not qualified for my aspirations of being an intellectual. It is taking too much of my time. It takes too much of my energy. What can I do? These cycling thoughts of society’s current place. It’s past mistakes, past victimizations. It may be to correct my past mistakes, my victimizations.

The truth of me is something odd in this world. No words to justify the ineptitude of my social skills. The silence is a storm. Thoughts of machine-like lustful savagery. Mixed in with the desire to be a decent person, the good person.

My anxiety is what holds conversations with you. A dull and awful conversation. Eye contact is deceitful in many ways, but it tells the story. A story no one understands. Something that happened before it’s time. Something not completely understood. This story is unimportant to you. All you know is that you are repulsed by my eyes, and how they touch yours.

A simple secret. It’s terribly simple. A private game being played for years. A Misunderstanding- the title of my childhood. Misunderstood is the
next chapter. The world around me gets a little hostile when my ghosts take control. The hate for the hollow man who bares his innadecuacies in public, and in silence.

He becomes the lone sheep in a pool of self assured wolves. Whatever this is. I will show strength. Life; or the three decades of something happening to me. Or in front of a three pound gelatinous ball of electrical pulses. Any interactions with other jelly balls have too much importance. Except for the three beautiful jelly balls that have taken
permanent residence in my only loving thoughts.

In sharing the seemingly delusional spoils, if I win the attention seeker lottery. They hold my concerns, and my codependency. An attachment that drives me insane. I love them. And I love something that tells me; the past is prologue. Only interactions and events between electric gelatinous balls. Nothing else. No matter how much they’ve molded me.