Grey ceiling 2 cm above my head. Once I cracked through it the
sky above was also grey. The glass roof that loomed over me for
all these years...it was made of glass all along. Not cement. It
weighed on my shoulders like a slab of concrete. Gross grey
colour it drove me mad, why was it so hard to break through? Now
I'm out in the open. I can see it for what it was. But the
sky is still grey. The clouds are fortified with more tears than
I could ever hold. I don't want to move. I feel like if I
take a step in any direction the downpour will be too much for
me. I want to crawl back into my concrete box. It's scarier
outside. I wish I knew earlier the outside was just as bad. I
should have known better than to seek help. The grey is slowly
turning darker and I regret ever wanting better for myself. I was
miserable inside but at least I wasn't scared for my life.
Scared for my life. It's pitch black and I'm scared for
my life. I don't understand. Why was the glass ceiling glass.
Why is the sky so black. and since when did I care so much about
my life that I'm afraid to lose it? Is this the lesson. Am I
supposed to be scared straight now? I don't know who I'd
be if I wanted to live beyond this. Wanting more dragged me into
this. I should have been happy in my tiny depressing world. I was
so comfortable there. Miserable and suicidal yes...but I had
found comfort in that. A part of me wanted more still. That part
of me hatched away at the glass that felt like concrete. It's
still hard. But if I was really as comfortable as I'm trying
to manipulate myself into thinking I was, then I would not be
here. I can't ever let myself be comfortable again. Here on
out my comfort zone is synonymous to danger zone.
"Every scar, every wound, every ache inside of you is a
story. And stories are the wildest, most powerful things of all.
Because stories can build galaies or make entire universes break
and bleed and fall."