I worry that I have nothing in common with my peers.
I worry that I am too much like them.
I worry that I do not generally care for people.
I worry that I care for people too much.

I worry that I will never become anything more than a long list of worries, growing longer and less manageable by the day. I see myself fading, as the shoreline of my accomplishments is washed away by the waves of anxiety and pressure that gain momentum every time I worry.
In time, the person I used to be will have been consumed by her thoughts so intensely that she ceases to be me. In fact, she will cease to be anything.
Anything but worry.
I worry that this is not an exaggeration.
I worry that I have no idea what I’m doing, saying, or thinking at any given moment.
I worry that one day people will see that I am not confident in anything I do, say, or think.
I worry that no one will read this. But not nearly as much as I worry that someone will read it and find out the truth. The truth that I worry. The truth that I am like them. The truth that I am nothing like them.
Do I fear being different? I don’t think so.
Do I fear being similar? I don’t quite think that’s the case either.
I fear acceptance into a world I know nothing about. I fear rejection because I know nothing about the world.
I worry that I know nothing about the world.
I worry that everyone around me knows more than me –about everything.
I worry that one day I will wake up and realize that all my worrying was in vein.
I worry that one day I will not wake up.
I worry that I cannot help everyone.
I worry that I cannot help anyone, not even myself.