I cant sleep. I can't sleep because I've been listing all the things that I'm afraid of. It's a long list, but not much of a list. I'm not really afraid of any of it, but my new found anxiety likes to tell me that I am and I believe it.

- losing my mind
- losing my mind
- snakes
- losing my mind
- losing him
- losing my mind
- disappointing the ones who love me

Three in the morning concluded that it couldn't get worse than losing my mind. I've been by myself for so long that I don't think I'll ever be able to bear not having me around. I've been busy writing about how I'm so afraid of losing everyone else that I never quite acknowledged how afraid I would be to lose myself. My home. The only thing that has managed to stay. "Stay" is as overused as "I'm okay" and "he can't love me" and "I'm not happy, mom" and "stay, stay, stay."

I can't sleep. I can't sleep because I've been teaching myself optimism but I've managed to make optimism depressing too.

I've decided—with optimism, that if the day ever comes, the day I lose my mind—I'm going to be optimistic about being good enough for the universe to grant me a clean exit.

That the green light above the door will gently lead me towards the end, telling me the stairs will catch my fall. I hope the music that's kept me floating so long plays me to the edge of the door and kisses me goodbye. That it's all right now. That I've lost everything, the skin doesn't matter now, and oh! What a silly child you've been! Go on then, sad one, it doesn't hurt from here on. You are lighter now.