All the pain she held in for so long hung over her head, like a black cloud waiting to pour all the hale of loneliness and loss onto her once confident figure. The screams of unheard agony and sighs of frustration rang out from the place she fled from, driving her further on. Thoughts ran through her head, incomprehensible and unbearable, one though ringing louder than all the rest. She felt so alone. It was pitiful, really, the way her heart ached for the company she knew deep down she already had, and it frustrated her that she was so unable to see it.
Why did she struggle so much with anxiety and fear of failure? Was it because her father had abused her when she was so young and vulnerable? Was it the way he dismissed everything she said, not giving a care at all for her feelings in his times of depression? Was it how, now, when she was forced to pretend everything was okay, she was feeling the most upset? Why did that nagging feeling that she was less than something constantly clawing through happy thoughts?
It felt as though she was stuck inside a cage of "teenage" emotions, where everyone could see through the spaced bars right into the deepest and most terrifying thoughts, so desperately pushed away. The freedom she desired seemed so unattainable, yet she felt she could never give up. It was the constant ups and downs of life, how one minute she would feel able to take on anything, the next minute doubting herself.
How could she tell friends? Her closest, even, did not give the comfort she craved, the freedom from her cage. She turned to them for distractions, for a free time that lasted only until an awkward silence ensued or the fun ended.
She was scared, she was terrified, of facing her anxiety and fears head on. When she would journal, it was always in her lowest moments. They were such upsetting thoughts to her, she never ever opened to that journal when she was happy. Even the thought of her vulnerability was enough to send her over the edge again. When she was happy, it was short, and still filled with insecurities, like the cage had clustered its bars, allowing her feelings of happiness override her irrational thoughts.
Hearing mentions of stupid things, like the party she had missed, or the people she didn't know, was like stabbing her in the stomach with a knife. Why should she care if she wasn't everywhere, all the time? Why should she care if guys weren't drooling all over her, and if she didn't get bucket loads of presents for her birthday? She had her friends, and she knew who they were, but she still felt as though one day they would drop her like an overplayed song, if perhaps she showed too much vulnerability or need. She judged and doubted herself most days; therefore it was very hard to believe others weren't always doing the same.
She would push on, though; she would never loose hope. She would not become victim to suicide or other ways of 'curing' her problems. This was her life to live, and she was going to make sure that she would live it to the best of her ability. She knew she was not the person she was hiding behind now, she knew deep down, sometimes way to deep down, that she was someone. The light would always be at the end of the tunnel, and she would always be sprinting towards it with every ounce of strength she had.