All I can do is sit here, chain smoking and drinking cold tea, and thinking of all the people I’d miss, and all the people I miss already. I daydream of going home, and being surrounded by my family, but the strains and stresses of life keep me here, trapped and spiralling. My own company is dangerous, being in the company of others, a burden, and strength; non-existent. It’s the scariest place I’ve ever been, but worse whilst being judged. I think of calling my mum, but the distance makes it sore, and I think of all the disappointment in her voice at the sound of me letting this win. I can’t lean on others when they think I’m being weak, and I can’t trust people that tell my darkest thoughts to all corners of the world. So I sit here, typing into cyberspace, embodying my loneliness, dwelling on all the lies that have tainted my faith, and I feel so stupid.
I’m trying to procrastinate, but I’m staring at the confessional to my parents, and god I miss them so much, but I don’t want them to know what I know; escaping is inevitable.