Scary Stories From My Diary

By Anonymous

I got out of bed today. It was my first time doing that this week. I don’t know what was special about today. It honestly felt like every other day to me; I could hear the same birds chirping outside of my window and see the same sun shining in. So why today?

Maybe that’s a good sign,

I tell myself.

it’s a sign i’M getting closer to overcoMing “it.”

That thing. The source of the pain in my chest that seemingly never leaves. The reason I feel the way I do now: like an empty shell. It’s not always like this though; sometimes I feel like the bright happy human I’m supposed to be. But when it gets bad, that weight comes crashing down on me and I lose my ability to breathe once again. Google told me I was dealing with a “traumatic” event. What an odd word. What an odd feeling. It sounds silly to Google your feelings, but the way I grew up, feelings weren’t a priority. It was always “get over it” or “stop

being sensitive.” As I grew older, I learned how to switch them off. It’s not the best coping mechanism, but it’s all I know. To me, dealing with emotions is another chore I desperately want to avoid. So naturally, I don’t enjoy feeling too much. Especially when it’s like this. I asked Google how I could get rid of that feeling, the one that makes me feel like nothing else matters. The one that was forced onto me without permission. The big monster hiding under my bed in the dark. If I looked down there, what would I see?

Would he attack Me or just stare back?,

asking the same question I ask myself in the mirror. Why me? I question a lot of things that have happened since January, but it never quite seems to add up. I hate to take on the role of a victim, but the fact is I am. The predator was so close, but I didn’t realize it until it was too late. Now, my whole world has shifted. There’s nowhere for me to run to besides inside of my own head, nobody I can call because no one else will ever know. I didn’t do anything. I was just living. And yet, here I am, left to wonder why I was the unlucky one. Every time I try to find the answer, that feeling in my chest comes back. It starts to suffocate me and cloud my vision. In those moments, the only thing I want to do is run away and forget. Google told me that it was a panic attack. It’s funny how one moment can cause so much pain. It’s always different when you experience something instead of just hearing about it. It’s an odd feeling to be battling your mind and the rest of the world at the same time. It’s even harder to try and call for help when your sense of trust has been broken. So for now, my notebook can be my companion because words can’t hurt me if they’re my own. I’m not familiar with taking care of myself, mentally, at least. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. I think I just wanted to know if it would help. Maybe typing it is the way I can call out to the monster. Maybe the monster isn’t as scary as he seems. Maybe, just maybe, the monster will hear this and come out. I want to tell him I’m not afraid anymore. To tell him that despite everything, I’m still here. I’m still a person. The monster can never take that away from me. If I tell myself this enough, I’ll start to believe it. I don’t want him around anymore. I don’t want that feeling in my chest. Maybe the monster isn’t even a monster at all. Perhaps, he’s not just one “thing”. He’s all of the emotions I hid away when I was too scared to dig deeper. Too scared to answer the question, “Are you okay?” because I didn’t want to know if I actually wasn’t. All of the things I desperately avoided. But in the end, nothing can stay hidden for too long. When I thought about him before, I used to think about my fear, and not wanting to be consumed by him. Now, the monster gives me hope. Hope that I’ll face him one day. Hope that in time, I’ll be able to breathe again. I’m still learning how. Did you know?