I worry that I play the part of the fool, in an ongoing chorus of heroes.
I worry that I am not honest with myself.
I worry that I am overweight and have man-boobs galore.
I worry that I am in an academic pit of failure, the likes I cannot escape.
I worry that I will not get into any college, and that my intelligence is only an illusion internally.
I worry that the portrait I paint of myself is far more interesting than who I actually am.
I worry that my life will lack love, in the end.
I worry that I am not good enough
I worry that when I eventually send this email, you will think I’m massively depressed.
I worry that a label such as the aforementioned means I have failed.
I worry that I don’t fully know what aforementioned means.
I worry that I cause too many problems.
I worry that no one likes the banjo.
I worry that I’m dramatizing this situation too much and it’s actually not a big deal.
I worry that me writing this will be perceived as a waste of time.
I worry that I think this is a waste of time.
I worry that I am a selfish narcissist who only tries to make his story more interesting.
I worry that my life will mean nothing.
I worry that I will cry when I write this.
I worry on the fact that I am not crying now.
I worry that this spiral of sadness will suck me down to the River of Styx.
I worry that writing that reference makes me pompous.
I worry that I am trying to be as honest as I can in this email, but I worry it will change the way you see me.
I worry that I should stop trying and just accept I mean nothing… maybe I’ll is happier that way.
I worry that someone will call me pretentious or stupid or that a crowd will call me both.
I worry that my imagination is more interesting than I am.
I worry the plots and ideas I imagine will never see anyone else’s eyes.
I worry everything I thought was good, turns out to be s***.
I worry that I am not a good enough to be who I want to be.
I worry that the better version of me is in an alternate universe, and the decision that distinguishes us already happened.
I worry that I want see her too much, the person who, in this time of sadness, could affirm that maybe I’m not quite as shitty as I think I am.
I worry that’s all she thinks she is to me though.
I worry that all my dreams will mean nothing.
I worry I am not good enough for college, or for my parents.
I hide my worries because I know they’re troubling. And I know I don’t feel this way all time.

I’m happy that after leaving this screen and looking outside, I feel better now.
I’m happy that I am just a teenager and the world doesn’t know what to make of me yet.
I’m happy that I have people in my life that love me and that I love.
I’m happy I know how to connect letters into words, into sentences, into ideas.
I’m happy that I love nature.
I’m happy I can recognize the marvels around me.
I’m happy to send this email to you now, to show you that you need not fear for me.
I’m happy that I know the stories of figures that lived way before me, and that they were/are good people.
I’m happy I can feel for people that aren’t even real and that when a movie is over I feel different.
I’m happy that I can talk to a complete stranger and we have the possibility to be the most important people in each other’s life.
I’m happy that I can see magic everywhere.
I’m happy that Aliens might exist.
I’m happy I can play music.
I’m happy that flowers are different colors, because honestly that’s cool, really think about colors.
I’m happy the sunrises are a thing.
I’m happy that if a tree falls in the forest a hermit can hear it.
I’m happy that I have talents
I’m happy that I can make other people feel good sometimes.
I’m happy that I can feel.
I’m happy I can be sad.
I’m happy that I am here.