Not suicidal

Closing my eyes and putting my pillow over my head used to scare the monsters away. My monsters aren’t the same anymore. They’ve transformed into something far worse, far more frightening. My monsters have become life itself.

What do I do? I’m suffocating as we speak. I never planned to be this frightened, I never planned this far ahead and I never planned to be where I am now. My life seems so shallow and empty right now. It’s filled with work, accomplishments, dreams and me—just me.

My brother was married this weekend. I never thought he’d settle down before me. How many more will fall in love and settle down before I do? How many more will get what I want most?
But of course I have to change what I want. I can’t have what I want. So I sit here and stare at the screen. I think about the forms I have to fill out, the resume that needs some loving, the homework I can’t seem to care about and the future that I can’t foresee.

I’d like to know where I will be in 10 years. I want to know just so I can prepare myself for what I fear will be a lonely 10 years.

I’m a pessimist with the attitude of an optimist. I can put on a happy face for anyone--most of the time--but inside I die.

Alone, this word frightens me more than hell. A pillow won’t stop the monsters from coming at me, from pulling me down and being objectively cruel force that they are. No amount of tears, sleep or food will chase these feelings away. There the feelings of a very mixed up child who wants nothing more than to sit in the corner, wants nothing more than to hide under her bed. But what lies waiting me under my bed.

I will press with my hand, not on the pillow I’d like to cover my face but the door that opens into the next part of my life.