Paranoia [old piece].

Its that feeling again. That same goddamn feeling. I try and I try to keep it away, but it stalks my intelligence and finds my deepest secrets and insecurities. It knows me better than most -- it knows exactly how to pluck my mind out of my head and massage it until I listen.

I struggle to think clearly. This deep infatuation must've begun ages ago; I must've created a healthy relationship with this feeling in younger years. Only now do I realize it has quickly become sour -- now it won't leave me alone.

I yell at it.

FUCK OFF, I say loudly, eyes squinted. Not again, not again.

But like most friends, it knows when to ignore me. It knows when to turn off its ears and look at me with soulful eyes.

Please, it says. Please let me stay a little longer. Just for a while, let me fester in your bones and make you absolutely mad.

I give in, like I always do. I let the leech knit itself into my body. And as it promised, it began to make me absolutely mad.

It sits there and whispers to me, mischievous lips on my ear. I listen with intensity to the secrets -- the lies -- that it tells me. And like lovers reunited, we are intoxicated with one another. Listening becomes an obsession, and I can't wait for another opportunity to indulge my quiet friend.

It whispers jealous and hateful things. It makes me question friendships, motives, and even myself.

I watch my back. I don't trust anyone. Not when its around.

Only after I have shared my thoughts audibly do I realize that this feeling is nonsensical. Disgusting, even. I listen to myself drone mindlessly about obscure scenarios it has helped me come up with. And even though I can tell that these things are ridiculous, I can't stop myself from flirtaciously twirling them around in my mind.

Someday I will replace it forever with the warmth of another. But every time I feel that that other person is close, it digs its claws into my back, demands my attention, and asks for more. And of course, like a teenager desperate for love, I indulge.