I've lived in fear for so long that I've buried dreams. I can't even tell what I want, and that's a terrible thing to realize.
My current job isn't a bad one, but I'm not happy there. I haven't been applying to other jobs because I don't believe I'll be happy anywhere. What do I want to do? What do I want to be? The answer has always been writer, but the odds of supporting myself on that is so slim. Especially when I can't seem to write anything.
I loved writing. Why is it so hard for me now?
I looked at some college courses, some degrees, and didn't feel alive with possibility. No, I felt exhausted, like I could curl up in bed and fall asleep, sleep until the years have passed me by and I'm still boring old me with no aspirations.
What do I want?
My life is passing me by, and I'm standing there, watching it with only partial interest. I'd rather be in a world different than mine, fantasizing about people who aren't me accomplishing things I never will.
It's scary. I keep thinking about dying. Not about hurting myself; I'd never, ever do that. But sometimes I remember St. George, how you could stop driving on the side of the road and walk over and suddenly you're looking into a ravine. When I lived in St. George, I wished I could fly so I could throw myself off the edge and soar high above the ground. It was such a beautiful idea to me. But now I think about that edge, and I wonder what it would feel like to fall. Fall, fall, fall.
And then I realize what I'm thinking about, and it terrifies me. I switch my thoughts to flying. I guess that is a dream I still have.
Who is this person in my skin, wearing my name? Is this the person I'm doomed to live the rest of my days as? Or can I change?
But what do I want to change to? No one can tell me. That answer belongs to me.
