I’m terrified of fading away. I’m terrified of not leaving my mark on the world.
It’s not so much dying one day, but not living out my dreams.
I don’t want to work in an office or a customer call centre or behind a till.
I want to be a writer. I want to be an artist. I want to be a poet. I want to be a singer.
I’d rather try and do my best at all of these things and be dead at 50 than live into my eighties, wondering what could have been as I sit in a care home.
Maybe that’s a little morbid for someone who’s only 29 years old, but at this point I feel like I haven’t even got off the ground.
My poor mental health and my rocky childhood have robbed me of so much. I have a chip on my shoulder. I’ve envied those who had it better than me for a long time. Not anymore.
I’ve realised that sort of thinking doesn’t get you anywhere. My scars have healed and they’ve made me strong. There’s very little I fear now.
Not giving it everything I’ve got is my greatest fear of all. I would rather burn out than fade away. I want to live my life to the full than kind of live for a long time, not amounting to much.
That’s why I write more now. That’s why I draw more now. That’s why I lift weights and walk in the woodlands. I want to be alive. I want to feel alive.
I’d rather burn out than fade away.
Written by Miss Wren