Tell Us More

Can I admit something? I'm scared.


I'm scared that I'm 22 and still unsure of what I want to be when I grow up.
I'm scared that I'm doing this blog and no one cares - - not even me.
I'm scared that one day, I'll be looking at this diploma I'm about to receive,
the debt I'm ignoring,
and the family I hope to have, and I'll wonder -
was any of it worth it?


Did you know? I'm afraid.


I'm afraid that I will put myself out there a thousand times and be shot down a thousand and one.
I'm afraid that the person I think I am,  the person I think I like, won't be good enough.
I'm afraid that the time I've wasted,
the days I spent in the sun and not in the library,
and the hearts I've broken will accumulate, and me?
I'll be left alone.


And underneath all of that? I'm worried.


I'm worried that like my family before me and theirs before them, I will go crazy.
I'm worried that at some point I will lose myself and become just another number.
I'm worried that eventually the words will leave,
the friendships I've had fall apart,
and the only comfort, the only ground that resembles solid will fall through -
as I slip through the cracks.


Tell us more.
Tell us who you are, help create a picture.


I tell you I'm petrified to grow old.
I tell you I'm off put by the idea of leaving.
But you say it's normal. You say everyone feels like this.
Then why should I tell you more?


What more is there if everyone feels the same?