Loud Noises, Quiet Fears

Loud noises at 4am unnerve me more than anything else. They make me worry for the wellbeing of all those whom I love, hoping that everyone is safe and sound, not being run over by a car on a quiet road anywhere. It's a morbid thought. And yet such thoughts always find themselves in my head at the most random of times. It could be the three-minute walk between the bus-stop to my school. When I am in my bathroom. It is hard even to think of times when I am alone that I am not thinking of such things.

Sometimes, I wish someone would tell me that I'm not crazy. That the phone call I get is not a bad one telling me that someone has died or has gotten into some awful accident.

Am I going crazy? Or am I already?

It breaks me sometimes, and I find it hard to talk about it to anyone at all because of how senseless this is. An apparent antithesis to my philosophy to be in control of how I feel; I allow myself to uncontrollably feel like crap because of my baseless imagination. I feel so ironic and can't help feeling that it's life's chastising me for thinking that I am better than it. This paranoia begins with an initial shock, followed by deep, hollow feeling that refuses to be filled. Not by religion, not by reason or comfort from anyone.

As a person guided by practicality, I've always been haunted by such little moments of irrationality. Like making up silly little rules to try to convince myself that if I live by them, what I would want would then happen. I remember being six, and walking only in the space between the small tiles, carefully avoiding the borders, thinking that doing so would wake my comatose grandfather. Even now, every time before I throw a piece of rubbish from a distance into the bin, I would quietly make a bet to myself -

in, i would be able to ___. miss, and ___ would happen.

Obviously none of this makes any sense at all.

Tell me, am I crazy?
Okay, you know what. Don't tell me, I don't want to know.