It’s nightfall again and you’re in the same place you were for the last, and the one before that. Little is different, if anything at all. You ask yourself why it is that nothing ever changes and don’t think of anything at first. But in the back of your head something stirs, whispers in your mind’s ear the words you fear, the same ones you hear in nightmares or moments of weakness.
“You’re afraid of change.”
Nothing more, nothing less.
Nightfall is a transcendent moment where your choices crawl across the back of your neck; you feel them most acutely because there’s nothing outside the window to distract, only what’s inside. And what’s inside is a tangled mess of emotion, regret, and suppressed dreams. All things you try not to think about, so you push them aside for the white noise that you fill your life with.
Music, sports, work, family.
They’re distractions from what’s inside your house, just behind your eyes and lingering where you refuse to look.
“You’re afraid of change,” your mind whispers.
You know it’s right, but admitting it will invite a tsunami of everything else you’ve pushed away.
“Is it worth it?” you ask yourself, hoping the answer will be different than what you know it to be.
Nobody answers. It’s just you inside your head.
Nothing more, nothing less.
You’re left alone with your thoughts--another of your fears. Nobody can make the choice for you, to invite disaster, only you.
“But,” you reason with yourself, “I’ve lived like this for so long, I’m fine!”
The little voice in your mind’s ear says otherwise. It knows you’re lying. You’re not fine, anything but.
“You’re not living a full life,” it says.
You hate that it’s right, you hate that you have to live inside your own head. But what can you do? There is nobody in the world that can live in your head like you do. It’s impossible.
“You’re afraid of change,” the voice whispers.
You tell it, scream at it, plead with it, just to be silent so that you can have peace in your self prescribed misery. You’re disappointed with yourself for taking the coward’s route, but you shove that into the same place as everything else you repress.
Nightfall comes and goes, then it’s night. You find yourself staring blankly at the screen, not knowing just how long you’ve been here. Hours? More.
Days.
Weeks.
You’ve been here for years--the same disjointed, broken you, and the same vicious circle of fear and loathing. Some days are better than others; it’s easier to ignore the little voice in the back of your head. Some are worse, where you can’t ignore it and end up curled in the corner wishing for mindless oblivion.
There’s more to life, you know this, but it’s out of reach. You put it there yourself because you’re afraid.
“I’m afraid of change,” you whisper, hoping that tomorrow will be different.
Before you know it, it’s nightfall yet again. Little is different, if anything at all. Tonight, you don’t ask yourself why it is that nothing ever changes, but the answer is always in the back of your head.
Styles Yugen, signing off.
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