Often, I
consider how I’ll pass my first night when I finally get my own place. I will
close all of the curtains, turn on all of the lights, and then I will curl into
a ball and cry while I review every pain from the last decade or so that I’ve
kept locked down deep inside and haven’t let myself feel for fear that I will
completely shatter past the point of recovery. To me, gaining a home means
being safe enough to finally feel free to have that breakdown you’ve been
scheduled to have pretty much your whole life.
But that time
isn’t now. In the present, it’s all about breathing out one heartbeat, and then
the next, an endless repetition in order to continue a cycle of surviving in
hopes of reaching that elusive tomorrow.
Sometimes,
though, I’m so fucking tired of
waiting for ‘someday.’ I want that day to be here already. It’s so exhausting,
having to hold myself together every second, knowing that if I relax my grip
for even a moment I’ll snap, and then a future really won’t ever come.
It’s hard to
always ignore the little voice in my head telling me that maybe I just don’t
deserve to have a future.
Can I at
least just have five minutes to completely freak out without the momentary
lapse resulting in lasting consequences that I can’t afford right now?
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