What If It’s Not Working?

To be completely honest, my whole world revolves around me. Whether it’s chronic dwelling, self-induced anxiety, or something else entirely, I exhaust myself entirely.

I harbor these fears as if they are capable of leading me anywhere other than self-destruction.

I am terrified of how old I look. I am distressed over the fact that I am too human; that I’ve both lived through too much and not enough. My face is confirmation of the life I’ve lived, yet I still hunger for a life untouched by the ache of aging.

I am frightened that I chose the wrong career path. Dramatically so. The agony is something I try to hide with cute stickers, fonts, and a cheerful demeanor. But what exists underneath all that animated charm?

I am afraid that who I am is constantly changing, even if that’s the entire point of being alive. I fear that love is something I could lose.

What if this continual journey towards self-discovery is just leading me to the beginning I’ve been avoiding all along? What if everything I’ve been running from eventually catches up to me?

But maybe these anxieties are part of the treacherous expedition toward becoming who I am. Maybe they are proof that something is happening. Maybe the question isn’t whether things are ‘working,’ but whether I can accept that change is often loud.