Jailed.

I think a lot of people like to talk to their reflections in the mirror and, just for kicks and giggles, act out their dreams.
I sing in a musical movie, dance on stage, talk to interviewers while the lights are flashing behind me, pose for a magazine, act out many different scenes from many different movies, be in a reality show, show off my figure on a fitness article, contort during an act for Cirque du Soleil...all while never leaving my bathroom.
Obviously I want to be a remembered face, I want to be famous. I love to entertain. So is that who I really am? Am I defined by my dreams?

What about how society deems my worth? If I were defined by what I do for a living, well...it wouldn't amount to much. Minimum wage job, living at home with oodles and oodles of student loans for a private college that I dropped out of, and occasionally teaching lessons on the side...I'm not worth much then. I don't like that. At all.
So why aren't I a famous movie director already instead of just watching movies and studying the behind the scenes work? Why aren't I on stage singing in front of millions of people instead of occasionally teaching lessons to middle school girls on the side? Why am I not a famous author with three books on the New York Times Bestseller list instead of just reading reading reading?

Why?

I think it's fear. I'm afraid of changing. I'm afraid of meeting new people, of sacrificing my life right now for the life I dream of. I'm afraid of taking a risk. I'm also afraid that if I do "make it..." will I be able to keep it? I'm just ruled by fear.

So why am I afraid?

Well, I'm insecure. And that's because I feel as if I've been beaten down at every turn I go. Whenever I took a step forward in my life, someone/something was right there, mocking me and telling me to give it up already, I don't stand a chance. And if I pushed past that first obstacle, I would be attacked, viciously. Sexual abuse, emotional bullying, spiritual paralysis, etc. I'd be forced back to my cell, bruised, bloodied, violated, and crying.

But one thing that I'm proud of myself for is: I've never given up hope. Despite the fact that I've been hurt so much in so many ways, God help me I'd go back to my cell and nurse my wounds so I could try again. And again. And again. And AGAIN. Each time I went back, it only made me want to try harder. I developed defenses, shields and disguises to sneak past my brutal jailers.

But now, as I'm sitting here in my cell, something different and scary is happening to me: I'm losing my hope. Everything is turning gray, I'm getting weak and tired and something alien and terrifying called Depression is sitting in my cell with me, waiting for me to embrace it.

Dear God, help me. I need help.
An Ep User An EP User
Jan 15, 2013