Worry, You're Dead.

When my heart starts beating rapidly, that's when I know things are gonna go wrong.
When my fingers to my body start to rattle and shake, that's when I know things are gonna go wrong.
My breathing increases you can hear the huffs and puffs. In, out, in, out. I tell myself to calm down, but just the thought makes me trip even more. The empty bad feeling in the pit of your stomach doesn't want to go away, does it?
Maybe it's not that I'm so much as scared, maybe just worried.
Worried. Worried that everything is going to fall apart. Everything. Everyone. Friendships. Love. Community.
I'm in living my life in constant worry. Don't want to say the wrong thing, make the wrong impression, take chances. So I'm bottled up with a cork to finish it off. I know, it's "bad" for my health. But if you're saying that there is a 75% chance that you don't understand.
But in my case, though I'm spending my days curled up in the white sheets of my bed, the cold wind of my fan stroking against my cheek while I lay looking dead, drowning out my thoughts in music, I know things are eventually gonna get better.
My fear would eventually die down, and become less intense, the dead feeling inside will drain away while I gain my happy glow back. And I'll just be me again, the happy me I was in the good ol' days before any of this nonsense happened.
I won't have the speeding heart beats or the shaking hands. The constant thinking, or worry. Worry. Worry. Gone. Someday gone.