my job

I think constantly from a third person. Someone looking behind my eyes, but from another. Judging my every move. Perceiving each inadequate motion as ornate, scared to face execution.

I hyper fixate on the little reactions I have to things. How an amalgamation leads to one of two roads. The relief of potential conflict, an ease for what could have been. Or backing myself into a corner, curled over sick with ‘what ifs’ trying to create ‘why’ answers to made up scenarios.

I, of course, aim for neither, where I can reside in the moment, open to the idea that nothing is wrong in the very moment. Yet, I force myself into the ladder.

In a reaction rooted from the bare insecurities of my thought on my character, I break the boundaries of my true character. Mad at myself for spending money, typing texts, going out of my way to solve one’s issue I had not created, nor disputed. It’s fine. I’m helping to solve their problems? How long until it’s all I fixate upon? ‘Til I brand myself as their personal superhero, cause suddenly their smile is the drug you crave.