Scared

what if i’m actually scared of myself?

loose cannon. sometimes i definitely feel like one.

do i have everything under control? maybe now. hopefully always.

but every action points otherwise.

self destruction? maybe my conscious daily dose.

i know it. i feel it. i understand it.

why not stop?

maybe i don’t want to. or maybe that’s just easier to believe than admitting i can’t.

maybe i deserve it?

but for what?

haven’t done any wrong shit. at least according to my skewed moral values — if i have any.

so what exactly am i punishing myself for?

or is punishment just the explanation i’ve given it?

maybe there doesn’t have to be a reason.

maybe i’ve just gotten comfortable with things that slowly destroy me.

that’s probably worse.

because i’m not oblivious to any of it.

i can see the patterns while i’m repeating them. i know which decisions end badly before i make them. i know what tomorrow will feel like. i know what i’ll regret.

and then i proceed anyway.

strange.

i’ve always thought knowing yourself was supposed to help.

but what good is self-awareness when it changes absolutely nothing?

maybe i’ve mistaken awareness for control.

because i can explain myself. i can rationalise almost anything. give every action a reason. every mistake some context.

and somehow that makes everything feel intentional.

controlled.

until i look at the sum of it all and realise none of it looks like control.

maybe that’s what scares me.

i don’t necessarily fear what i might become.

i fear that this is already me.

that there isn’t some future version of myself who suddenly loses control.

maybe i’m already losing it, slowly enough that i can keep calling it something else.

and maybe every time i say “i can stop whenever i want,”

what i really mean is

“i haven’t had to prove it yet.”