Pressure

Sometimes, it’s just so hard to stop and catch a breath. It feels like it’s nearly impossible – especially now.

Sometimes, I feel like I don’t have any other choice. I have to do this, despite what everyone has told me throughout my short life.

And sometimes, I can’t stand the pressure. The pressure of being perfect. The pressure to be the woman that everyone wants me to be. The pressure to be someone that I’m not.

What would they do if they knew what I really was? What would they do if they knew the secrets I hid from them? Would they understand me, understand me at all?

What would happen if everyone knew? If they knew that I liked getting high? What would they do if they knew that the girl-next-door was just a fake?

And what would happen if finally I broke? The pressure has always been such a burden – such a curse – that maybe one day I just broke because my body couldn’t take it anymore; it couldn’t take the pressure and the drugs anymore.

I can feel the pressure, it’s getting closer now. And it’s getting far too close for comfort.