Losing my religion

I feel like sometime this week I will explode. I don’t want to be there. I’m scared to fuck it all up. Why did I take that job. Why did I want to come home. I know. I got bored. I needed out. I was suffocating. Drowning in the eternal boringness of it all. The day filled with things to occupy myself with. 

Who am i? What will make me  happy? What will finally fill me and make me stop questioning what the fuck I’m doing with my life? What will I do with  my life? Will it be of significance? Will I be important or be swallowed by the masses? Why do I want to even stand out. The idea of being in the spot light quite literally turns my stomach upside down. 


I don’t think anyone actually knows that, maybe we’re all just scrambling around making the best of what we’ve got. FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT.  The first and most repeated piece of advice I’ve been given since not only  entering adult hood but also the work force. These people you look up to or at least look to to know how to do their jobs or…care even just don’t. Were all just here faking it. None of us know our asshole from our elbow. Those who do are god damn lucky. Why is this such a big deal? 

If I could put it into words it would go something like this: my eyes get teary. I want to cry and I can’t exactly pin point why all I know is that the everything-ness of everything is weighing down on me. My nicely done nails dig into my palms as I make my fist into tight sausage balls. I try to distract myself from the everything-ness by focusing on the sharp pain on my  palms.  My stomach.. is in suspense. Butterflies. Anticipation for something to come. My heart beats faster. Something is coming. Everything is coming. Everything is here all at once. 

Any way. I smile, focus on not falling into the everything-ness and go about my day. 

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