I'm starting to get it now. I mean, I don't totally fully understand. It's not like I somehow commanded a blood vessel to pop open and start leaking into my stomach. It's not like I wished for that.

I am eighteen years old. This is not how it's supposed to be. This is not how my life is supposed to turn out.

Now I am here. I'm back where I started. I've been sitting here all along, too tired to move. I wish I could go to sleep, like, immediately when I wanted to. I wish there was some kind of anesthesia for me, at least something to make the world shut up.

I don't know exactly what's happened to me, and for now, I don't really care. I shouldn't have to care. I shouldn't have to work this hard. I realize now, living is hard.

Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams. I've heard people talk about the sleep of the dead. Is that what death would feel like? The heaviest never-ending nap?

I am still not entirely clear on the particulars here, but I do know that once I fully commit to go, I'll go. But I'm not ready. Not yet. I don't know why, but I'm not. And I'm a little scared that if I accidentally think, I wouldn't mind an endless nap, it will happen and be irreversible, like the way my grandparents used to warn me that if I made a funny face as the clock struck noon, it would remain like that forever; I know it doesn't make sense anyway.
















: Sometimes you make choices in life and sometimes choices make you.
Does that make any sense?
Think about it.


new past