In my dreams, everything is alright. I have a smile plastered on my face and I’m surrounded by friends. In my dreams, hatred doesn’t exist and neither does pain. So I wake with the same expectation. But the turmoil of the night before is lingering like an old wives tale. It sets a knife between my ribs and slowly pushes forward, causing me to feel like a problem.
And the thoughts are back again, reminding me that this isn’t worth it. I locked myself in a room and fought the urge to relapse. I was a bother to everyone I cared about; even isolation was the wrong choice. All I could do was wrong.
The morning after a peaceful dream, I wonder why I can’t stay. These thoughts are drowning me and there’s no one to throw a raft.I’m lost at sea and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be swimming with the intent of finding shore. But at this moment, I want to create my own.Because the truth is, I want to be okay on my own.
So I’ll grab a notebook and scribble some ideas. I’ll lose myself in my art, and drown out the heated words and uneasy glares. I won’t let my happiness depend on people’s approval of my choices. And I’ll sing a song for the ones whose love I miss.
I’ll be okay.