locked the door. four times. then stood there, hand still on the knob, picturing what i'd forgotten, what horror i was about to walk away from. but there was nothing. the gap, that empty space, between what was happening and what my brain insisted must be happening. it's exhausting carrying around a disaster that doesn't exist, all the air squeezed out of me, vision tunneling, pulse thrumming against my throat, the way it feels right before a panic attack. and for what? a hypothetical what if. i hate that this is how i live so much of the time. like… is the startup really worth it? i wonder if @Ollie thinks about that, the cost, the feeling of always being braced for impact. but maybe that’s just the price of admission, the ticket to a life that… isn’t this.