Low

Every time I'm with a friend
Or was with a friend
It's like a
High. Everything is technicolor 
Like my world is made of diamonds
And the sun is refracting off of them.
It's happiness, perfection—yes, I'm okay, I'm going to be okay, the world is good.
Then I leave
Or the friend leaves
And it's like a 
Low. I can't explain it.
The diamonds seem to turn cold and smoky
Like they've been dipped in acid
And all my imperfections
Glow like glaring faults.
This is why I'm afraid of being with friends.
I'm scared of the low, what always follows, that scared, lonely feeling,
That nothing's ever going to be okay again—
I relive what I said, what I did, how I acted.
It's called overthinking, I guess.
But if overthinking is a race
I would come in first
Because my mind runs at a million miles an hour
Whenever I'm remembering.
It's hard to be like this,
Introverted and sad but enjoying being with people,
And seeing everything about myself
That I could never be. 
I don't do this with everyone.
Just a few people, but it's there, and I always overthink it.
...I love my friends, though.
I'd say, no matter how bad it could be
It's worth the low.
 

Silent Wolf

MA

19 years old

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