The Intruder

I’ve got this feeling in my gut. I’m short of breath as though a football has just blasted me in the stomach. I’m overthinking, I’m pacing the floor to stop overthinking but it’s not working. The dark cloud over my head is getting heavier and heavier and I really can’t cope with it today. I hate being out there but I also can’t stand the constraint of these walls, allowing me time alone with my thoughts.

There’s an intruder inside my house, breathing down my neck, shouting loudly into my ears. I can’t think for thinking. I can’t stop, I just listen, and question, listen and question…

Something bad is going to happen, I just know it. What do they think of me? I can’t go back out there. What am I even doing? Why am I not like the others? What must they think of me? Did I sound stupid? I’ve done something wrong. It’s my fault. I should have done it differently. Why did I say that? I’m not coping. If I think this way then surely everyone else must feel the same about me?  

Fuck off. 

I don’t want you in my house. 

I don’t want you anywhere near me.

Leave me alone. 

I know you’re not real. 

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