I need time to breathe
Or to time my breaths
But the counting creates a mood of apathy
Like I can’t stay awake like this—
And I’ve missed the reason
For methodically breathing
In and out.
It’s broken down for peace,
Not destructive thoughts
That beat up my heart,
But slow beats so I can stop and think,
And count to slow down every word racing
In my mind.
I want to stop hiding behind a glass wall.
I don’t want to wait for it to fall
Just so I can tip toe around the glass pieces
Holding distorted reflections of what I used to be.
Or how people see me.
I don’t care what they think.
I care about finding the light behind the door I closed 4 years ago.
I care about holding time close as I think about the future I don’t know.
I know what I need.
I need to stop thinking, keep counting, and move into the place that is meant for me.
I want to be free.
I am scared of a lot of things.
I’m scared of ISIS, terrorism, disease, and people hiding in the dark, waiting for people like me. I am scared of him. I am scared of being alone, and having no one to go to. I am scared of disappointing my parents, getting pregnant before I get married, and not making it into grad school. I am scared of school. I am scared of losing everything, and dying before I get the chance to live,
But I love running outside in my bare feet, and making up words to songs. I love driving when everyone else is sleeping, and pretending like I am the only person left in a small country town with a name no one seems to remember. I love talking about nonsensical things with friends, and drinking underneath the stars that fall along the river.
My fears will not stop me from walking outside, and breathing in freshly cut grass, or the crisp mornings lining my windows. My fears will never leave me, but my love for life, and for people, will fuel enough excitement and energy to search for more.
More than black and white, and more than memories left behind in pictures.
I am writing this blog so I can continue to move past the darkness pressing into my sides, cutting into my lungs, while I look into my past. I want to breathe again, but first–I need to start from the beginning. Or maybe from the middle.
This is me.