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No more living with my fears 'cause I gave them all away Tell my loved ones that I wish them well November, by Sleeping With Sirens
Libby .
28 / Female / Tennessee, United States
Pansexual / In a Relationship with ImFabberThanYou
Member since:
Nov 11, 2013
Last online:
Dec 22, 2013
As a very young child, I was fearless. I guess in a way I didn’t even realize all of the things I wasn’t afraid of. What changes us over time to make us become a certain way? At almost 18, I’ve become afraid of so many things that I could not have cared less about when I was 7. Bugs, walking to places alone, doing something without my parents knowing, being in the car with my grampa, attending parties, pursuing a career I like versus one that will get me money, taking the bus, talking to much, walking home alone, and going to eat dinner by myself just to name a few. I loved bugs as a kid, my mom didn’t know how to drive so I always took the bus, and would always embrace the fact I had a lot to say! So what changed in all these years to make me afraid?I’m trying to fix this. While there may be nothing I can do about my centipede phobia or the fact that old age has turned my gramps into a terrible driver, I don’t want to be afraid of things anymore. In fact, I’m typing this on the bus…alone. Two birds, one stone right? I can’t let myself live in fear of the little things. I can’t bear to live an unlived life. Time to breal out of these bad habits and move forward into a positive light. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
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There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.
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Thats the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that its impossible to ever see the end.
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im the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible...
