Anyone who knows me knows I have a low threshold for handling things. In other words, I'm very apt to get freaked out. And by freaked out I mean racing heart, pink cheeks and cold sweats.
Right now is one of those times.
My dam is being threatened by invisible pressure. Too much water too soon. And the problem? There's not even a drip and I'm freaking out.
I sit here in this chair, in front of my computer, thinking of how cruel life can be. And I don't laugh at this. Not one inch of a smile spread on this face. I'm biting my lip. A nervous habit I have. But then again, what nervous habit do I not have? I'm a black belt nail biter, a first class pillow puncher and freaked out child in a crowded room. A crowded room that is filled with a few familiar faces, too many strangers and too many faces that I wish I'd forget, but can't. And here I am, standing in the middle of it, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one looks up. I know if they did, I wouldn't notice, because I am too selfish of a person.
I'm sweating. Tears are filling my eyes but I am too proud and too idealistic to let them pour out, because I know by crying I am open again to the possibility of hurt in an otherwise hurtless situation. Yes, folks, I am single. Single.
Even my tears fall in solitude. Just one. I only let one fall. Does that make me vulnerable or does that make me human?
Or do the two go hand in hand?
There's that word again. Two.
The imagined pressure is getting the best of me and I wonder if there's really any other pressure beside the one I myself have helped to build upon my own two shoulders. And I know the answer.
And I think you do too.
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