Unsolved Mystery

Wading through the waters of diffidence

None of my joints seem to hinge normally.
The mind isn’t helping, either.
My uncertainty about life follows me
everywhere.

Like I can no longer trust
what’s right in front of me
what’s always been there.

One day without a call back,
one off color comment,
I’m convinced I’ve single-handedly
rotted the foundation of something
I cannot bear to lament.

I could write all day
about the doubts and paranoia
that seep into my mind like a mist
when the lights of my confidence
grow dim, and suddenly,
I don’t hear a bell ring at dinner time.

But it hurts
my fingers, my wrist, my heart.

I could talk endlessly about
all the evidence I have gathered
supporting my distorted thought —
“Nobody cares about me
as much as I care about them.”

But quickly I grow tired
of the sound of my own voice,
and when my throat is bone dry
in the middle of the night
I can’t summon the strength to try
and reach out for a drink.

Do untruths become more true to you
when you don’t speak them,
or when you do?