The truth is

“I’m petrified, okay? I’m scared to death of tomorrow. I don’t welcome the sunrise; if I could hide in the cool evening, make it stretch into forever so that I wouldn’t have to face the unknown, I think I’d do it. I tell myself that I think I would. Do you know how many awful things can befall a person in a day? In less time than it takes to inhale? We may not be indiscriminate, but life is. It doesn’t give a damn who you love, or how beautiful you are, how kind, who needs you, who wants you dead. It can drive you mad just to consider the depths to which you can fall, the heights from which you can be dropped.

I know this makes me a coward. I know it sounds like I’m spitting in the very face of God, of the gift of life. I know that. I feel ashamed of it, this crushing fear, this admission that I don’t believe in my own existence, or trust in my own strength, or purpose, and that I’m constantly confused. Totally baffled, all the time. But I think — I hope — that maybe it means something that I feel like this and I just know I can’t face this world, I can’t, and I get up, every day, go out, and exist anyway.”

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