I’ve kind of been in a rut lately. Even with the reading on Thursday (which was terrifying, nerve-wracking and scary as hell all at once) I just feel… blah. Even shopping today, and snatching up some awesome deals, or the beautiful spring-like sunshine was not enough to pull me up out of my emotional gutter. It’s school ending, and graduation and this whole idea of the real world. And the closer these grand events approach the worse and worse my anxiety gets. I’ve never been someone who adapts easily to what life throws at me, so this idea of a whole chunk of my life just disappearing sends me right into my closet.
No, I’m serious.
Okay, so maybe this is a slightly embarrassing thing to admit to the Internet, but when I’m at my worst–usually upset, or anxious–I find no place more soothing then the floor of my closet. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, running and hiding in my closet whenever I needed to escape. I don’t even remember why I started, just that it always felt like the safest place, between the shoes, shirts gently brushing the top of my head. Of course, I always fit much better when I was a kid. Even still, it’s my place of comfort even though now it usually involves me sprawled out, my body only half inside. Maybe it’s strange to think of a 22 year old girl terrified enough of the world that she has to hide, but oh well. The world is scary, growing up is scary.
I really don’t know what’s going to happen, and it terrifies me. There is no excitement, just fear.
I want to be happy. I want to be excited. But all I can wonder if “what comes next” and if I’ll be able to handle it. Or, if once again, I’ll find myself hidden, body pulled in so tight, trying to tell myself that everything will be okay as I stare up towards the meshing colors of my grown up world.