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A dark clock, probably ticking

Life will end, which is inevitable. 

You won’t know when, or how, but it is slowly creeping up from behind. 

Death, luckily, is near the bottom of my list of worries, yet other things that have a similar theme are more frequent worries. 

When my mind is quiet, it won’t be for long. At that time, my senses become alert, searching for something to burden myself with. Consequentially, a simple tick of a clock becomes as loud as a freight train. The tick becomes an omnipresent fear, not as simply a clock but as a bomb, ready to detonate at a simple shift in the ordinary. 

With November sliding into the calendar, the end of the semester is rapidly approaching.

Tick.

 My grades are suffering, and instead of thinking I have time to improve, I’m left running out of time. Some classes have one singular grade, bringing the entire percentage down, and not enough others to even it out. Then I am still stuck, unsure of how my grade will finish and whether there is any chance of resurrecting it. 

I also have more significant anticipations, such as graduation.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

I am unsettled by the thought of leaving an environment where I’ve spent so many days, so many hours, surrounded by the same people and things. A constant thought is, “I can’t wait until I am done with school” or “People are driving me up a wall,” but honestly, it has become so normal that I am unsure of what life will be like once those things and people disappear. There are people I have spent my weeks with since kindergarten, and it is absurd to me that in just over two years, I may never see them again, even if I barely know them or despise them. 

I also have a worry about leaving my younger brother. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

In the past few years, We have become very close. When I get home from school, we talk about our days and talk about all the supposed drama. I make it to as many of his games as I can, and he does the same for my competitions. We look out for each other, and some of my happiest memories are with him. The thought of leaving for college and not being able to talk to my little brother every day in person brings me near tears. I can barely fathom the thought and don’t want to lose the days of us playing with Barbies in my bedroom, even if they have truly been gone for years. It will hit as a train of reality, and I don’t expect myself to be anywhere near ready. 

The tick’s repeat, not being explicit on what bomb is next to explode. They are quiet at times when everything else drowns them out, but they still find time to engulf me in anxiety.