When I was a little girl we used to have a sailboat. My dad would blare oldies and I’d get up on the bow and swing with the best of them. I’d shake my little ass and boats that would pass by would laugh and start mimicking me, waving in delight. That was me. Nothing terrified me, and nothing could. I wanted to try it all, get into it all, and be all that I thought life would allow at the time. Fast forward twenty years and I can’t even attempt suicide it’d draw too much attention. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve almost tried it once, but the thought of people even looking in my direction makes me want to shy away now.

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Now, it’s like I walk from point A to point B all the while wondering what the point was from the beginning. I breathe because it’s the last thing I know how to do, and just do. I don’t have to think about it. But if I were on that stage that’s all you would hear. Breathing. One breathe after the other, until someone would finally make me out and realize, wow, she’s living in fear of even herself, and that’ s the last fear she has is of that last breathe. That it won’t be to a beat she danced to by herself or with the whole room, living the life she’d always wanted. Never to care if anyone was watching, and knowing that to breathe was to live, and that in itself was owning any stage

Does anyone notice how much talking we do and no one hears what it is we are saying? I think im here with four others that are all talking at once. I sit in silence as the noise rings through. I wonder if this is the life. Should I just be happy that this is the biggest problem of today? My problems of death seem to diminish with each week. I no longer think of it as my way out. But what is a good way out now? What should I think of in the bad moments? And when do the moments feel as if they’re ringing true instead of ringing through my ears?