I live my life perpetually like that. Always intending to say something, but never actually saying anything.
There is only one person on this planet that accepts me for who I am. You would think that this person would be a savior of a sort. Somebody who I could feel comfortable with. You'd think, any ways. In a sense she is. In a sense, I suppose, she is my womb. I can curl up and hide, and say nothing, and still feel good and relaxed.
And then on the other hand I am very much not comfortable with her. I'm scared that every move I make, every word I say, will be somehow misconstrued. This, of course, thanks to the stupidity and misconceptions of others that I know. Taking something relatively simply, really, and butchering it beyond repair.
I do not find life's sense of humor amusing.
I spend too much time thinking about that one thing, and what I can do to change it.
I am a question aspiring to be an answer.