Loop Behavior

There are too many thoughts for one body. They move in circles, wear paths into the same places until the ground gives in. Patterns arrive before intention. I react and call it instinct. I leave and call it safety. Trauma never raises its voice. It just adjusts the volume of everything else. I mistrust silence. I mistrust warmth. I mistrust the moment right before someone decides I am difficult. Memory doesn’t line up. Time splinters. The past interrupts without asking. PTSD keeps me alert for things that already happened. BPD keeps me searching for proof I exist at all. I study myself like evidence. I replay the same scene from different angles, hoping one of them explains why I always choose the fire. If only there was sand. Something that would slow the fall. Something that would let time pass without cutting. But there is only repetition. Only noise I have learned to call thought. Only the quiet work of surviving another loop. I remain here, unfinished, watching myself happen again.