A Chance to Escape

lalalovetuna:

If I mean so little to you, why is it so difficult for me to stop believing things might change?

-Rant-

Do you know how fcking frustrated you make me? I hate working with you and I wanna switch my shifts every time I’m scheduled with you and I think I will start doing that. I can’t stand to be around you. I don’t need you telling me how to do my job. I don’t need you hovering over me and tell me every little thing I’m doing wrong. I don’t want you to be around me. You seemed cool at first but now you’re comfortable with me, I guess. But then now all the mean comments come in about how I shouldn’t eat cause I’m fat. I also ABSOLUTELY LOVE when you call me at 2am and when I don’t pick up or text you back you send me one telling me how you drank with the managers and they called you badass. Yeah, I admit I did joke around with you when we first started this job about who the managers like but that’s over with. We were just messing around and now you take it to a whole new level. Also, making negative comments about my work ethic around the managers isn’t gonna make them like you even more because they’re not stupid. Today just took me over the edge. I saw you for ten minutes today and you managed to do the usual and insult me and try to make me look bad but at the same time you say you love me. People got the impression at work that we’re best friends and sht. Not even close. Wish I had the courage to tell this to your face and hopefully it would make things better, but I hate confrontation. I really hope I can deal with you when we work together, which is soon. I have never been so frustrated with someone like this for awhile.

-End Rant-

safeena:

Once, I remember thinking to myself that if it was that easy, I would have just sealed myself in a glass jar, poked a hole for air, and stayed in there. I would have used the tough glass to protect myself from anything that could hurt me. I could watch happiness and romance and falling and breaking and pining from inside the glass jar, as if I was watching a movie. It would be entertaining and safe. At the end of the day, I could fall asleep, full and whole, to wake up and watch again- while I function independently and without fear.

But, my fantasy is always disrupted. Because want, need, desire, and the hollowness that comes with observation and lack of empathy would fill the jar. And it would suffocate me. I would climb to the air hole and push my nose to it and take deep breaths- but the air outside would fill me with deep, warm, and rich longing. I would call out, maybe. I would cry and scream. I would fight with myself- is want more painful than heartbreak? Do I need to feel in order to live? Can there be happiness in a place of solitude? 

Do I need to feel to be alive?

In my glass jar, would I be ghost of someone who could have been? Someone who could have felt? Someone who could have been beautiful in love, beautiful in sadness, and most importantly, beautiful in hope for the rise of the sun?

And in that moment, my glass jar shatters and lets me escape into the world. I know that it cannot exist because I know that despite the past, despite the depression of loss, the thrill of hope is enough to keep me flying.

No matter how hard I could fall, I’m willing to bear a helmet and a smile, and get back up again.

We have to get back up again.