Polyester is familiar.
I've been here many times before knees tucked into chest fingers latched onto skin. It's manic.
Water moving along with my sobs waves rack through me waves knock me over. I'll duck my head under and let out a breath watching my worries float to the surface.
Hours tick by like lonesome minutes skin prunes representing the cuts in my soul and the salty water runs cold.
It's different it's not anxiety it's undiagnosed anxiety.
I am soaking in my own self-hatred.