It's late and I am up now, trying to be honest with myself. No, I don't know what to start with, neither do I know what are the words that are closest to what I know of what I feel. Simply put, a million things are running through my brain this moment. And I am exhausted but sleep isn't coming tonight.

Every thought pulses a need in me to run far away from here, you know, to get on my feet and run. I want something, somewhere, somehow. I'm not meant to be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. Not now. The lonelier I am, the more I hide my face in my hands to shut off everything else from this world.

I'm not telling you this so that you can teach me how to fix my life. I'm telling you this because I can't say anything to anyone right now without being seen as scared. And weak. And lonely. Just small and frail, incompetent and slow. Too slow, not enough for this world.

And yes, nights like these I crawl back into who I was, into that old shell that I tried to hard to break through before. Nights like these, so dark and so late. I'm stifling my yawns and staring into this blank screen, trying to put together what strength used to mean to me.