Read this earlier this morning 🤔🤷♂️lame shite but still a few here might benefit from a quick glance at it.
Worry is a scam. A cosmic Ponzi scheme where your brain is both the con artist and the gullible investor. Anxiety is that drunk uncle at the family reunion who won't shut up but also won't throw a punch—just stands there muttering what-ifs like they're prophecy.
Let me say it in a way most won’t dare: you are not in control. Never were. You could duct tape your life to a spreadsheet, triple-check your seatbelt, drink all the green smoothies—and still get tackled by life wearing a clown mask and no pants. The truth is laughable and liberating: you don’t own the future. You lease moments, that’s it.
Stress pretends it’s productive. “I’m just being responsible,” it says. No, you’re not. You’re time-traveling to disasters that haven’t happened, writing horror stories in your head, casting yourself as the victim, director, and critic. Anxiety is imagination abused. And frankly, you’re better than that.
When has worry ever prevented catastrophe? Did pacing the floorboards stop the diagnosis? Did losing sleep add hours to your life or just wrinkles to your soul? Worry doesn’t prepare you. It pickpockets you while convincing you it's helping.
You could die mid-sentence. Mid-laugh. Mid-forkful of cheesecake. And you think overthinking is worth your time?
The birds don’t spiral. The trees don’t panic over tomorrow’s rain. Mountains have stood for eons without a five-year plan. The stars burn unapologetically in their orbits without asking, am I doing this right?
You’ve been gifted this breath. This one. Not the next. Not yesterday’s. This. And it’s enough. It’s always been enough.
You’re still here.
You’ve survived everything that was supposed to break you.
And the future? It isn’t yours yet.
Stop borrowing nightmares.
You’ve got galaxies in your chest and a backbone forged from storms.
Walk like it.
Mind you there last few lines went a bit too far 🤮