It is a good thing to enjoy one's own company.
Recently, I have found it difficult to do so;
I have found it is impossible
to want to be alone.
I am not a good friend to myself anymore.
Existing in my own company was once a blessing,
but now I find it more a curse.
Long car rides once meant that I could think,
that I could speak to myself
and voice my own thoughts aloud,
thoughts that I couldn't express with others around me.
I could imagine,
be creative,
spin tales of other worlds;
I could sing at the top of my lungs
without any fear of judgment
except, of course, my own;
I could explore,
drive down roads I had not ventured before,
make a turn that I had never made,
and end up farther from home than intended,
but not have a care.
At the end of the summer I went driving alone
and suddenly I was an outcast.
I deemed myself unwanted, shunned from society
never to return.
Sun and heat and blue skies meant nothing anymore,
and instead of adventuring, imagining, singing,
I found my frame wracked with sobs
as my mind raced
and I breathed so heavily and so quickly
that I couldn't think,
couldn't speak,
couldn't do anything but scream.
I would clutch the wheel in anguish,
sobbing without reason,
crying out on the side of the road,
sitting in my little car
and wishing I could disappear.
Driving wasn't the only thing I lost:
lying alone in the nighttime, I stared at the ceiling,
reaching, clutching desperately at sleep,
but unable to grasp it completely
and falling into fits of anxiousness
that kept me awake for hours;
writing lost its appeal, reading even more so
and I began to convince myself
that the world didn't need my voice,
didn't want it,
that I didn't deserve to share it;
being amongst other people eventually became a chore
as I was constantly lost in my thoughts,
constantly fretting
for no reason;
I lost my appetite,
ate almost nothing,
didn't care that my limbs weakened
and my stomach ached from pangs of hunger.
Now I wish to be a better friend,
a better ally to myself
in this war
against my own mind.
This is not a war in which I physically fight,
but a war in which I must resist;
a war in which the enemy
must be cured of its pain;
I must heal myself in order to be better,
and in order to be worthy
of the person who I wish to be,
the person that I know I can someday become.
I will be kinder to myself,
I will go gentler,
easier,
give myself strength
and help myself in my shortcomings;
I will trust myself
to know what is best,
and I will hold my own hand
through this healing process that I must endure;
I will befriend myself again
and learn to cherish myself
and my own company.
About the Creator
Jillian Schupbach
Theatre and English major at Michigan State University. I love writing and am excited to starting doing so more publicly. I hope you enjoy reading what I have to say.
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