I remember a time when I was so scared.
It was probably the most scared that I have ever felt and can actually recall feeling. Its probably not the best idea to think of such times, but the dark moments within my every day sometimes spark those flashbacks. Those moments.
It was dark outside. Even darker inside, mellow and the air was stale. It was past 1am and the street light shone a ray of light refracting off my room wall or my proclaimed room. It was dead quiet with the occasion speed racer zooming on the empty main road just outside. Other than that all i could hear was the sound of my breath exhaling and inhaling heavily. My body, shaking. I remember feeling the beat of my heart, feeling my pulse through my temple lobe as I lay against the leather couch of which I fell asleep on every night for 5 months. My eyes were tired. Tired of everything. Tired of crying. Tired of visualizing dreams in front of me of which seemed over hundreds and thousands of miles away.
My friends were there, but never within an arms reach within my mind. The moon was there and kept me company every night. My long-time friend. I had never felt so close to God during those nights. He was there.
I remember praying to him, more than I had ever done, hoping that he would lighten my load of pain. I would close my eyes gently and allow me to wake up to see the brightness and goodness of the days to follow.
The night bought the diminishing of my energy, excitement, enthusiasm. I bought me down. Down to the under belly of my real thoughts and worries. It bought me down and laid me down on that leather couch.
Who am I really?
The uncontrolled emotional wreck longing for something more?