I realize today that my love life is controlled by panic attacks. Partially kidding, I used to say I was a stressed lover. Well, I am not. To be precise, I am a lover prone to panic. I panic in such ways that I am not able to love, occupied as I am to navigate between such attacks.

All I thought I was and all people thought I was were wrong. Jealous? Wrong. Suspicious mind? Wrong. Vivid imagination? Wrong. A cocktail of everything? Wrong.

When something doesn’t happen according to the plan, I panic. It hurts, physically and emotionally, from my stomach to my head. My external reactions range from sadness to fury, depending on my mood. Passive or aggressive. To know ourselves is exhausting! 


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