Living in a Bottle

That’s what people never understand, darkness. When you open your curtains in the morning light pours into your room, when you open your door and walk out into the morning sunshine the sun bathes your face, the warmth alone brings light into your life. When you pass someone on the street and they smile at you, there’s light, there’s warmth, there is a feeling of self worth that a stranger has acknowledged you. When you go to bed at night and someone says ‘goodnight’ to you, the darkness when you turn off your light isn’t so scary.

Everything that I see is tinged with darkness. The sun doesn’t warm my face, the light frightens me. It’s a fear of the unknown. It’s hard to describe to someone what it feels like to be scared of things that appear to be good, that bring warmth to your life. It appears irrational, it is irrational, but when your life is contained in a bottle that lets in no light, being rational is irrational. The escape route are those glass walls that can’t be climbed without help, help is what you want but you don’t know how to ask for it, you don’t want it, you need it but it still frightens you.

The bottle is metaphorical, or is it? It’s the sole purpose for your being, everything else exists outside of it, sometimes you can see out through the glass walls, but it is blurry and distant. Each morning when you wake up, the light that comes through the gap in the curtains hits the bottle first, it lights up nothing else in that room, illuminating that thing that you so desperately need, crave, would kill for. A room full of so many objects yet it’s the only one that is visible to you. You can almost see yourself at the bottom of it, looking for the last drops.

Why don’t you just stop? You’re killing yourself. I know I am killing myself, if I could just stop would I be here? Do you think I enjoy living in a bottle from which I see no escape, one I can barely see through. Do you think I enjoy living in a world where reality and fantasy have blended into one, I can’t distinguish between them. The dark shapes that chase me in my dreams, I don’t know if it is a dream or if it is real. The things that lurk in the corner watching me and taunting me as I sit there, I don’t know if they live in the bottle with me or are they just tricks of my mind? My own mind loves to taunt me too.

If you don’t understand, try. Try to live in my shoes for one day, imagine being me. I don’t want your sympathy, I just want you to know how it feels to be scared, trapped with no way out. If people understand, if they don’t judge me, cracks will appear in the glass, the light might not shine on the bottle in the morning, it might shine on my face, I might feel the warmth that you feel. If you understand it might give me the strength to break down the glass and escape, when I escape I’ll be able to walk out the door with my head held high and the sun on my face.


One thought on “Living in a Bottle

  1. Pingback: ‘Your experience? A billionth of my own’ | Ramisa the Authoress

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