I really just don’t want to care.

I keep seeing visions and getting bursts of feeling. They are intensifying and coursing through my veins constantly. My head pulses and my eyes sting. In bed, late at night they come out to play in full force.

Random scenes of horrible things that could happen. Horrible things that I’ve done. I start trembling as sobs wrack my body. I shake and shake until I fall asleep but even in my dreams I only see terror.

Nights like these I wish I could leave. I dream of running away. Of gliding down the stairs and into the empty night. The streets would swallow me and I would never have to return. Even if I starved to death I wouldn’t mind.

Sometimes I think that the streets aren’t enough. I want to leave this world. I wish I could travel into another dimension with magic and adventure. Perhaps just another place. A forest, a mountain from which I never have to return. Put all my energy into simply surviving. No need to grow myself as human. No need for extra knowledge and skill.

I won’t need to control and perfect my life. As long as I wake up the next day I will be happy and secure.

If life were as simple I wouldn’t have this overwhelming desire to leave. Leave everything. Any form of escape, I welcome. A book, a movie or getting lost in a series. Even doing work, exercising, playing-the things I worry about when not done- bring me a great escape route. It’s too bad the night consumes. When I have nothing to do but think and get consumed by my own thoughts.

That’s why I write, I guess. I need a distraction or deterrent from my nightly ventures. Perhaps, if I channel those thoughts and feelings onto a page they won’t bother me in the night.

All I can do is wish that this feeling of caring goes away. I should stop caring about the small things that do make me sob. That one word that ruined my day. Those three tasks I still have to complete. The disappointment in my parent’s eyes. The party that I wasn’t invited to. The picture of the alcohol my friend drinks or the weed that they smoke. The loss of a chance at talking to someone. They linger even though they do not matter. I should not care.

It is the reason I cannot speak about my goals. My unwillingness to share comes with the insecurities I have.

Or maybe it’s because of pride. I want to achieve my goals by myself. Without assistance because it would mean that I am incapable.

If it would all come to an end one day I will be so happy. Something inside of me needs to become whole. Needs to stop worrying about outside factors and focus on myself.

If only I didn’t care.

How much better would life be?

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