Past and Future

[Verse 1] If my past is the source of depression, and my future fuels my anxiety, Then they’re teaming up—tag-team match inside me. Is there momentum? Like they pass the knife back and forth, Past says “you’re broken,” future says “you’ll be worse.” I traced one root back—parents split, love got risky, So I learned caution as a religion, wore it like safety. And it shaped my “process” like a mask I can’t drop: I’d pick apart the person I love… to protect the outcome. Outcome: healthiest connection, strongest bond, real trust. Process: interrogate every detail till the doubt turns to dust. That’s not love, that’s a courtroom in a house with no heat— Then I’m not building love— I’m building a judge. .I wanted peace so bad I turned connection into a receipt. Most of our messed-up patterns are well-intended, I see it— We chase “forever” so hard we choke the life out the reason. …and yeah— That’s f***in’ dumb. [Hook] I wanted certainty, I bought control. I wanted safety, built armor outta fear—now it cuts me. Past taught me “don’t get trapped,” future said “don’t get left,” So I kept my guard up, called it “high standards,” “self-respect.” But if I lose the outcome while I’m trying to get there… [Verse 2] Now anger. Not the “we disagree” type— I mean flooded, where logic dies, where your chest gets tight. I’m fine with conflict, but the moment I’m “disrespectful,” A line gets drawn, and suddenly I’m the villain in the temple. I can still hear it: “You will not speak to me that way!” And I get it—respect matters—still, it hit like a blade. Because my volume wasn’t power, it was panic—feeling unheard, When certainty invalidates you, you start questioning your own words. Frustration turns to last-resort emotion, raw, unpretty— Then it becomes proof I’m the problem, not the pain underneath me. And it felt like this: calm voice, sharp knife. Covert disrespect cuts deeper than the loud kind in the light. But society sees volume and assigns guilt quick— Dudes can’t show anger, those are the rules—sick. So I’m loud, I’m “unsafe,” I’m “intimidation,” While the quiet dismissal gets framed as “good communication.” I don’t wake up looking for war, I wake up trying to connect, But when my words hit a wall too many times, something in me cracks. It’s not rage—it's the sound of being ignored too long, A man yelling through a locked door, begging to be heard. [Bridge / Note to self] If I feel unheard—say it earlier. Don’t stockpile resentment. If the pattern shows—walk away before I’m weaponized as the lesson. If someone wanted to meet my need, they would. I can ask… but I can’t beg them into being good. [Outro] So here’s the real question: Do my needs feel weak… or do I just fear being seen? Am I avoiding “neediness,” or avoiding intimacy? If I’m this candid, will they call it reflection— Or judge it next to the safest version of emotion?