I have so much clutter in my thoughts and I drag myself through life these days. My chest pounds from the anxiety and I hurt in silence.
I ponder upon the possibility of really bearing it all and reveal the raw and fragile being that I have been behind the passive-agressive, angry, drunk, born again Catholic, highly capable and over achieving facade you all have witnessed.
I wish I could. Truth has only been revealed to those in that room two years ago. It is on those notebook pages the counselor kept in the file. And it's buried in my heart pounding to come out. What good will it do if it did break through the fear? What a sad existence I feel, the epitome of procrastination, cynicism, and sloth. A fake.The only real thing, some days is the faith but when you feel like you can't keep the hope, faith is lacking too.
Fake it til you make it, right?