Ruptured Rapture

I'm afraid. Fearful, not fearless. What if you hated me? Please don't. I'm incoherent and irrational. Jumbled thoughts, all of them inappropriate. All around its festivities: laughter, food and smiles, but inside me a storm is raging. I'm conflicted. Sad. Depressed. Insecure. Pressed for time. Immobile. Helpless. Hopeless.
What if I'm not good enough? This feeling has been  invading my peace for months. I don't even know which direction my writing is supposed to head. I'm slurring my words, stumbling over what I want to say. I do know what I want to pen down, its just that my pen can't move fast enough. And by the time I reach where I want to be, the idea doesn't seem as perfect as when it was first conceived. Just empty rusted tins that crackle in the wind.
Why the hell did you go and break the streak? I mean, who does that? No one breaks the streak. No one. Now we have to start all over again. If there even is a such a thing as an all over again. Why are things unraveling so fast? Like pulling at a thread from your favorite sweater only to realize that its falling apart and in the end all you have is one big pile of yarn at your feet. I hate it. I hate everything. I'm whining again. That's what happens to me when I'm depressed. Feel like I'm being wedged in a corner and discriminated against by the entire universe. I know for a fact that the universe has nothing against me. Everything I'm running away from is in my head. There's no way of escaping them. Facing them is no valid option right now, so I'll try my best to sweep them under the carpet to be dealt with at a later date.
This no way to live. I'm letting my life pass me by as I grapple with invisible and non-existent threats.
Run. Run as fast and as hard as I can. Away from this place. Away from all of this. Why is it so hard for me to feel normal? I don't remember even being remotely content in these past few months.
Help me, please. Throw me a lifeline. Somebody, anybody.
Ray, bloody hell, dammit! I miss you, need you now and in dire desperation for a hug.
What are you so afraid of? Tell me, tell me, tell me.
I hate the fact that I bought the dream when they sold me one.