At 3am...

I splash cold water onto my face, breathing deeply, and stare at myself in the mirror, taking three long breaths to get myself back under control.

I am alone in the house, I am not having a panic attack.

I’m not.

I do not have to worry, I’m just naturally panicked, I’m a little brittle and that’s okay. Lots of people are brittle some of the time, and with the year I’ve had it’s natural I’d have a weak moment now and again.

It’s okay to be a little brittle, so long as you don’t let it control you, so long as you don’t give in to panic. I splash more water and grip the sink with both hands, to steady my nerves.

I am in control of my nerves, you see, and brittle isn’t broken. I know there is no need to be afraid.

“I am alone in the house.” I tell myself in a whisper, staring at myself in the mirror, alone in the reflection I find.

“Yes,” comes a voice from behind me, “You are.”

No Need to Worry

There’s nothing in my closet.

Nothing under the bed.

Nothing outside my window.

In fact, there is no window.

Everything outside of my most immediate frame of reference, that which extends beyond the nearest reach of my senses, has at some point vanished, and all that’s left is me, in my bed, covers pulled over my head.

On the other side of this quilt gapes empty void.

And when I close my eyes, I have no doubt the quilt will vanish too.

All my life I was afraid of what might be out there.

Now: There is nothing.

So… good?