Anxiety

The butterflies in my stomach were suddenly awake
Fearing danger, they fluttered around nervously
This was in response to the impending situation
Me walking towards a girl who had stolen my heart without knowing it
The voices in my head barked loudly
Each speaking of the dangers of this physical meeting
Doubt screamed the loudest
Outlining all the scenarios of how it could end badly
But my feet kept moving in her direction
As if possessed by some spiritual entity
Determined to see this through
The butterflies fluttered at a faster pace
The voice of doubt continued with its chorus
But my focus could not be swayed
I finally approached her
She turned, flashing a radiant smile like the morning sun
And greeting with a “hi” as friendly as a little child
Blood draining out of my head
As the words “hello” escaped out of my mouth
The world went black

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“Mr Fix It”

They call me reliable.

Everybody comes to me when they need something. Because I’m always there. Always helping. Reliable.

Sometimes I think they depend on me. But they don’t. I’m more of a help desk. An individual that’s there to help people with their issues.

I’m not in the social circle. I’m the loner. The “outcast”. The “quiet” one.

My problems are all compressed internally. And I’m slowly running out of memory….

Reliability translates into responsibility but I don’t want that. I don’t want the spotlight. I like it where its quiet. Not being in charge. It’s my personality.

“Mr Fix It” doesn’t want to open himself up and become a target because he fears his weaknesses will show. Vulnerability.

But they keep coming. Asking for help. Making me responsible.

And I keep helping. Reluctantly holding the responsibility role. I hate it. But I can’t stop it.

I need space.

Anxiety attacks might surface.

I need space.