Running away sounds irrevocably enticing right now.
I've been off my anxiety liquid drops (for day hours) for a while now. Yesterday night, at church youth group, I felt like I was suffocating. I felt a hand over my hand compressing my breath. My legs were jingling up and down; I could not sit still. I wanted to run, to pick up my pink metal Bible and lone chapstick, and walk the twenty minutes distance to my house. It was still light out, surely no one would rape me? All during worship I was so uncomfortable. I just wanted to go home and disappear into a book. I wanted to runaway. To forget.
I wish I was a little girl running through forests again. I wish life was that simple. I wish my hardest problem in life was contemplating over whether or not I could sneak into my brother's room at night and sleep there. I wish that I would not worry about basic things, things that other people would not worry about. I wish I could hand them over to God - literally, not figuratively.
Run, my brain was chanting to me. Run. Go Home. You can do this. You can walk back. You can face your mum and dad, you can tell them that you just had to go home. You can do this. But I didn't. My feet didn't move. I didn't have the courage. A normal seventeen year old would. I wish I would not be afraid of what my parents would say if I suddenly walked home. I wish I had the courage to walk home.
But that would never solve anything, would it?
If my life was a book, I would be in the middle of a nail-biting, edge of a seat, climax.
And if I was reading said book, I would be cringing inside.
I hate reading through climaxes, they are painful, and not very pretty.
But in the end that's what makes a book, and it makes us what we are.
Who we are when we come out of a difficult situation defines us.
Here's what it defines me currently: lost, misguided, confused, perplexed, hiding-away-in-books-to-ease-the-pain-of-said-life, basically running away in my mind.
I'm such a bloody coward.