You say you want peace.
But the moment you get it—
you itch.
You scroll.
You snack.
You clean.
You sabotage.
Anything but sit still.
Because stillness feels like death.
Not the physical kind—
The kind where you have to feel everything you’ve been outrunning.
Stillness isn’t your problem.
It’s your trigger.
Because the second the noise dies,
your ghosts get loud.
And you don’t want to hear what they have to say.
You weren’t raised on peace.
You were raised on unpredictability.
So now you confuse anxiety with aliveness.
Chaos feels like home.
And calm feels like a setup.
You say you want to slow down.
But you only feel safe when you’re running—
even if you’re running in circles.
That’s not a preference.
That’s programming.
You built a whole life on motion
because motion drowns out the memories.
Because sitting still
means sitting with the version of you
that no one saved.
And you’re not ready for that yet.
So you scroll.
You swipe.
You say, “I’m just bored.”
But you’re not bored.
You’re unprocessed.
Stillness isn’t dangerous.
Avoiding it is.
