Through the Fog

Tag: Intrusive Thoughts

  • It Scares Me

    It scares me

    how fast my mind can go there—

    how something small

    can open a door

    I didn’t mean to touch.

    Like there’s a version of me

    that knows the way out too well,

    that whispers in quiet moments

    when everything feels too heavy

    to carry again.

    I don’t always believe it—

    but I hear it.

    And that’s enough

    to make my hands still,

    to make me sit with myself

    a little longer

    than I want to.

    Because there’s another part—

    quieter,

    harder to hear—

    the one that stays.

    The one that waits

    for the storm to pass

    even when it doesn’t feel like it will.

    The one that knows

    these thoughts

    aren’t the same

    as truth.

    So I stay.

    Not because it’s easy.

    Not because I have answers.

    But because something in me

    is still choosing

    to be here—

    even when it scares me

    how close the edge

    can feel.

  • Imposter Syndrome

    I walk into rooms

    and wonder how long it’ll take

    before someone realizes

    I don’t belong here.

    My smile feels staged,

    my confidence borrowed,

    my voice a shaky echo

    of someone I wish I were.

    They say I’m strong,

    capable,

    brave—

    but all I hear is the doubt

    scratching at the back of my mind,

    whispering that I’m faking it,

    fooling them,

    lucky more than worthy.

    I carry praise like it’s fragile,

    like it might shatter

    the moment I look at it too closely.

    Every compliment feels like a mistake

    with my name on it.

    And yet—

    I keep showing up,

    heart pounding,

    hands trembling,

    hoping no one sees

    the cracks beneath my skin.

    Maybe I’m not an imposter at all…

    maybe I’m just someone

    who’s been fighting so long

    I forgot what it feels like

    to trust myself.

    Maybe the real fraud

    is the voice that tells me

    I’m not enough.

  • Spring Cleaning

    I spent the whole day in my head,

    doing a little spring cleaning—

    sweeping out old thoughts,

    rearranging the ruins,

    throwing away the versions of me

    that never learned how to stay.

    I dusted off memories

    I swore I’d forgotten,

    found feelings in corners

    I thought I’d buried on purpose.

    Funny how the mind keeps things—

    the good, the poison, the almost-healed.

    Funny how even the broken parts

    fight to be remembered.

    And yeah,

    I’m always dreaming—

    of better days,

    of quieter nights,

    of a life that doesn’t feel borrowed

    or blurred around the edges.

    Some days I clean.

    Some days I collapse.

    Some days I live entirely in thoughts

    because reality feels too sharp to touch.

    But I’m trying—

    even if the progress is silent,

    even if the work is invisible,

    even if the only one who sees the difference

    is me.