What must it be like to not feel scared all the time? Maybe scared isn’t the right word. Sometimes scared. Anxious, alway.
Heart racing from the minute I open my eyes. Blinking back tears over the smallest transgressions, imagined or otherwise.
Every new task requiring planning down to the smallest detail so I don’t screw up, please god don’t let me screw it up.
Heat rushing to my face even when the mistake is not mine, because somehow I am the mistake. Always. My fault.
Longing just to spend one day without feeling like my skin has been put on inside out. Like my heart isn’t on display, but safely hidden in the dark, where it can seek and feel all the wrong things, without fear of being caught.