It’s an aching in your chest, a distraction fluttering across your thoughts, a distant hope…maybe I’ll leave in ten minutes. It’s this pain, this stabbing pain when someone asks you to come out. Dread. Thinking that if you go, it’ll be the worst night in the world and you might actually die if you step foot in that bar. Maybe I’ll tell them I’m feeling sick. It’s hiding in your bed, ignoring your phone buzzing and beeping, praying it’ll just stop, thinking it’ll just go away if you ignore it. I don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s exhausting. Maybe they’ll finally realize that I want to be alone. It’s taking an entire day off after a night out because mentally? You’re drained. You cannot imagine going out and speaking to human beings again. I just did that last night.
For every hour I’m out, I need two to recover. For every person I talk to, I have to remind myself to breathe. For every body that walks through that door, I have to tell myself it’s okay and that I can leave soon.
I’m leaving in ten minutes. Maybe I’ll tell them I’m feeling sick. Maybe they’ll finally realize that I want to be alone. I just did that last night.
The relief of curling up in bed alone, breathing, listening to the silence or the hum of the quiet notes from Coldplay and Birdy…it’s heaven. Being alone, no, not even alone. Being inside, in a quiet room, just being…it’s heaven.