I am scared of good things because bad things feel more relatable. If I post about being depressed, there’s a retweet. There’s an understanding. There’s a nodding head. A same. A she gets it.
If I write about the good things, someone says I am lucky. Someone says I have been dealt a good card. Someone laughs. Someone reads my positivity and waits for the avalanche. For the good to decay.
Maybe this is all me. Maybe I am obsessed with thinking people think about me when I’m not even a passing thought. Maybe this is my toxic combo of self-loathing and narcissism. (Yes, gentle viewers, that’s a thing!)
I am scared of good things because good things do not last. And I know this. And I am trying to make peace with it. I do yoga, or whatever. I imagine someone making fun of the fact that I just said, “I do yoga.” That’s okay though.
Bad makes sense to me. Bad feels more human. Good followed by good followed by more good is foreign. How do I process it? And am I ungrateful for being scared?
I told my mom I have a deep-seated fear that people look at me, look at things that have happened in my life, and either a) don’t get it or b) are mad.
Why me? is a sentence I think a lot. But I think it about the good. When opportunities appear. When people hand me golden apples and I’m not sure I even deserve a seed.
I am scared of good things because I don’t want to celebrate without my dad.
I don’t want to admit life can still be good if he’s not here.