Ch 5

WARNING: these posts were written some time ago.  We all go through these Debbie Downer phases and this is one of them.  Be not alarmed by the depth of this post.

I'm making my queen-size bed for the um-teenth time since I could make my bed. I watch as the sheets fall across the white canvas. It's a lonely art. An art that only I will appreciate by myself. It hits me out of nowhere that this might, in fact, be my future: making my bed for myself, and myself only. I want to be secure and happy and sure of myself. I want to be one of those amazing, self-assured women. But I'm not. I feel alone and I hate all the times I've been told by my married friends “Oh I'd love to live alone!” or “Oh how I wish I had my own apartment!” They will never understand the lonely, cold, silent nights.

This is not the night for more than one drink and a chick-flick. That would spell disaster. However, I'm already on that path. I woke up in the middle of the night again last night. I eyed those mysterious pills tucked away on my dresser and I considered taking one so I can sleep for a night. They're just muscle relaxers. I just want to sleep. I wish I could start over. Would I go back to 22 or would I just go back to mid-February?

I doubt my every ability – I don't think I'm attractive enough, I don't think I have enough of a “wow factor” to keep someone intrigued, I worry that I sleep with people too soon, I don't express myself enough, and I don't shine the way I want to. Like how I shine with close family and friends. Instead I freeze, I stammer, I don't say what I'm thinking. I am my own worse enemy. I will not get what I want most out of this world and it's all my own fault.

I am loved. I have wonderful friends and family. But I don't know if I can keep the one I love. I only have what I've been given and I don't know that it's enough for anyone.