It's ok.

I worry.
I just do.
It's one of the first observations my therapist ever shared.
For such a simple word, it holds so many things.
Carries so many connotations and implications.
I worry that I can't trust myself or my feelings or thoughts.
That I'll die before realizing peace and truth,
that I'll die alone or just exist alone. Really alone.
Even though we are alone, we all are.
That I'll never make the leap with school
and will forever be chained to this desk. Any desk.
I worry that I'll never feel at home,
that I'll never be at ease with the loneliness and fear of existence.
That my words mean little or not at all,
to myself or anyone.
I worry about measuring up,
about finding a purpose.
Surrounding myself with folks who care
and will put it all on the line.
That life has no meaning.
I worry that I can't be in the moment,
that my brain holds me hostage in this place or that.
Just not in the present, as I'd like to be.
That I'm not fun or magnetic or joyful enough.
I worry I'm too serious,
that I'm everything I always feared.
I'm everything and nothing and it's ok.
It's ok. It's really ok.
I worry.
It really is...ok.