My chest is tight. My breath is sparse. My heart feels like it's tearing and my blood runs cold. I need to catch my breath. It feels like something has a hold of my lungs and its harsh grip is squeezing the life out of me. I almost feel sick. I fight the urge to vomit. I am disgusted.

I am fatigued, physically and emotionally. I'm breaking out and when I wake up, I am tired. I hate this terrible feeling. I need out. I need something.

In every corner of my thoughts stands a figure. It is myself. She makes me doubt myself and others. I'm not a strong girl. I'm not brave at all. All it takes is a few seconds or a phrase, and I distrust that person. I am frantic, almost desperate. I know it is just another strange emotional phase, yet I find questioning other people's motives. Once negativity is instilled in me, it festers and festers. I can't help it.

"Are you being sincere? Is that the truth? Please, I want to believe you. Will these conversations become dry? Are these promises empty?" All questions I ask myself each encounter with a close friend. I fear I become attached too easily. Is this my defense mechanism? Am I subconsciously trying to push people away?

This irrational paranoia is sickening. It actively bothers me, as I am falling asleep and when I am awake. I don't think my friends have the slightest clue about what goes on in my head. I have spoken about it vaguely, but I don't think they have an ounce of understanding. They usually have no words. The silence is uncomfortable. I wish I did not need people and that people did not need me.

I think I am simply afraid–afraid of having my feelings being trampled on and of attachment. I hate it. I hate it all.