Confidence is knowing that I will survive the fact you hate me.
But I will agonise for hours over the one thing I said, that broke the bridge of our friendship, in my eyes if not in yours.
Confidence is knowing that as I write the words on the page, they will always matter to me, if not to anyone else. And that\'s ok.
Confidence is being terrified to the point where breathing on earth is almost as impossible as if I tried to do the same in space. And still I do the things that make my heart wish it had stopped.
Confidence is believing I am right, when every fibre of my being screams that I am wrong.
Confidence is the pretence you want to see, in the person you want to work for you.
Fear is not an option. Reality is not compatible.
Because confidence is better faked. Than reality. Than fear.
And so with shaking hands I hope you cannot see. I pray to anything that should want to listen.
I count the seconds, the hours, the minutes. Not wanting my death, as many assume. But wanting to breathe and live without constriction, and constraints. Of the chains that squeeze my every breath out of me.
For breathing to be natural, it\'s supposed to be natural, right?
Confidence, instead of fear. Not a fake facade to drape upon it.
And how do I make what is fake real? I fake it until real becomes the only form it knows.
And then I will have it, won\'t I? real...
Confidence.