The Glass Box

I picture myself standing in a glass box, inside of which is light and visible but outside of it is nothing but the abyss. I see myself banging on the glass, banging and screaming as the box becomes tighter and smaller and I begin to feel as though I’m suffocating. I screech at the top of my lungs, begging for someone to let me out as water reaches up my legs to drown me, but nobody hears me and I am left alone in the dark to fend for myself once again, as my fear and anxiety engulf me in a world of utter and complete despair.

I am outside the box know, but I am far from free. My anxiety holds me to the floor, crushing me like a boulder and I can hardly move or utter a single word. But the one thing I can do is think, I think and think and think and in doing so I become more anxious and more afraid and more frozen where I lay. I can hardly cry but cry I do, and a single tear runs down my white hot face.

I have no control here, no pull of any kind. Here I am subject to my own immense emotions and my emotions are things which lead me to do such things as sitting on the floor crying ripping apart pieces of paper in my hands.

I come to imagine a good time, a better time in which I will be happy and carefree and with freedom from the normal world. I will be tied to none of the things which made me so unhappy as they had before. One day I shall be free, one day I will know what it is to love oneself…