death in eight letters

you can build up all the facades you want to build in your life, but you are a dead man if you let the things that attack your inner self get to you. like, for example, paranoia.

it gets the best of us, that nagging fear in the back of your mind, twisting your everyday routine and spinning a web of worry. my particular kind of paranoia is the kind that makes me think whether someone is mad at me or not.

a simple fleeting gesture, or the lack thereof, can be misconstrued by someone as a gesture of ill will, and it's the mark of either an insecure mind or an unstable relationship. what someone says or doesn't say, does or doesn't do can be misconstrued.

and damn, it's driving me crazy. i spend needless minutes and hours worrying about something that shouldn't be worried about; something that's just all in my twisted head. what kind of a man does that make me? knowing that, who can truly define me, and what is my true description? does that unravel my confident eminence front?

i really need to get a grip on life sometimes... i always vow to throw away the needless baggage, but end up keeping them.