Scared

There are times, that I don’t like to speak about, when I fear that I am losing hold.  

I am not suicidal.  

I am not going to run away from home.  

I just know that I am falling from gravity.  

There are people around me who walk and talk to me; yet haven’t a clue that the person they speak with is not there.  That she is long gone and all that remains is a shell.  An enormous, growing shell – put it up to your ear and instead of the ocean – you hear screaming.

Mind you that I am not insane, far from it, this is as sane as I’ve ever been.  The pills I’ve been given have shed light on the people who hover over me and their motives.  I know that I am last and least.  I have been given the truth serum and it washes over me like holy water.  

Standing at the altar, looking out at the masses of people who used to be my congregation – they’ve turned on me.  The chapel is empty except for a few who are there out of pity or loneliness.  

Why am I scared if this is my truth?  Isn’t the truth freedom?  Shouldn’t I feel better and not worse?  I want to sleep.  I beg for sleep instead of the lists that consume me.  Or the worries that keep me awake.  

Please just a few more hours of sleep and then I will wake and walk the dog again.

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