I feel it coming again. Returning with the pains and weaknesses as it did once before: the paralyzing nausea and the panic of sudden changes in the balance within. But it has been so long. To say the pain was all too well known would be a lie. At this point, it is merely familiar, as only someone can be after meeting them once or twice. My body, so self-destructive, just as my recent actions. But, with enlightenment and regretful consequences, the actions cease. The pain within, however, does not. Clarity does nothing to soothe a quarrelsome flesh.

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I’m in love with being in love. Searching far and wide hoping to squelch a rising sense of loneliness and a growing sensation of uselessness. If I cannot love someone, what is my purpose?

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The anxiety calls me, like a chamberer frequents his women. It shows itself when the nights grow long; when time slows, when recognition of a passing clock hand cannot be discerned by the waning daylight.

I am haunted by it.

By the pangs of love and sorrow, loneliness and fear… a culmination, an assembly that I cannot stand.

Save me.