The Two Faces of Paranoia

A plot twist. An undefined terror which defines my own terror, my own deep-rooted fear. That I am not alone in this is a slight relief. That I don’t know what to do with that is not.

A relief which relieves nothing? How ironic!

I’m so tense, I could almost destroy myself. Where do I go from here? What do I with that? One can only reassure themselves so much. Sooner or later, the horrors of my mind will be released. They demand it.

That my fear is based off of something so inconsequential is no surprise—some of our worst fears have their basis in nothing. Some would laugh. Others would be delighted to hear such an odd thought.

Is this paranoia? Yes, but then maybe not. I could go on explaining what this fear is, what it is and isn’t, and everything else in-between.

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