I’m lying here, unable to sleep, scared of my own existence. Every time I start writing about it, I almost chastise myself because I don’t want people to know exactly how confused, sad and scared I am. Oh sure, I lay my shit bare on Tumblr, and like a true youngster I dutifully post the melancholy pictures on my Instagram, but when I want to sit and put it into words where I can actually read it and kind of try to make sense of it, it’s like I feel I don’t deserve to.
April 5th was the seventh anniversary of my dad’s passing, so naturally I was shaky on my foundations. But yesterday? Even under the influence of an overdose of tranquilizers, I fell into a fitful sleep and woke up only four hours later, feeling like the air is avoiding me.
I just read a beautiful post about writing for the sake of writing, so once my head forms a line of best fit (completely straightened out? I doubt it), I’m gonna start that up. But for now, I desperately need to grip onto something before I disappear altogether.