SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

FORTY FOUR

Are we allowed to admit that we're afraid of... life? I mean, life itself.

I can vividly remember my younger self—two pigtails, a cute pink t-shirt, and those velcro shoes. From my earliest memories, I recall being scared of everything. I feared the usual suspects: the dark, swimming, heights, going to the dentist, and storms. But one fear stood out: people. Let's just say, I was terrified of truly living.

But I've never enjoyed being the center of attention, never wanted to be the clown. Always anxious, always waiting. Mom and Dad dropped us at school at the crack of dawn, and we'd be there till dusk, heads on our arms, staring out the window for Dad's red car in the parking lot. Those tiny cinnamon heart candies we snacked on every day, now I can't even look at them without feeling sick from eating too many.  I always felt like the first one at school and the last to leave, always wanting to disappear, to crawl under my bed.

I tried to make people laugh, went through this phase, but looking back, it only made me feel more awkward. I remember hitting twelve and seeing my friends start having boobs while I stayed the same. It's crazy how those little things hit us hard when we're young, before we develop that rational side.

School? It wasn't easy. The anxiety, the feeling of never fitting in. Constantly trying to blend into the background, hoping no one would notice. Teachers who didn't understand, classmates who seemed to have it all figured out. It felt like swimming against the current, struggling to keep my head above water. Those years taught me resilience, though, and a deep understanding of what it means to feel alone in a crowd. 

I was never the standout among my friends, always pretty but never the prettiest. In high school, I worked at the movie theater, had a small circle of friends, and that was enough for me. Then came the acne—why me? And then there was my brother, the hockey team's captain. Suddenly, I was just Cedric's sister.

I always wondered why people had these major crushes on others, except for Dylan O'Brien. He was the exception. Seeing him in 'Teen Wolf' was an eye-opener for me; I liked boys. Oh, and no one could change my mind. Then came Jack, my new crush at the time. I remember thinking, 'He's more accessible than Dylan O'Brien.'

I wanted him more than anything. It was the first time I felt like I wasn't scared of anything.

I'd find excuses to be around him, hoping he'd notice me, hoping he'd see beyond Cedric's sister to who I really was. It was exhilarating and terrifying, this newfound courage to want something so badly.

Until he crushed my confidence too. I wasn't just in love with him; I was in love with the person I became. From this day, I was now once again, scared to live. 

 Today, sitting in this doctor's chair, I'm scared not to live.

The clock in this consultation room ticks way too loudly, and it's driving me nuts. You know how we've got five senses: seeing, touching, hearing, tasting, and smelling? Well, some people are born missing one of these senses, like not being able to see or hear. And sometimes, when one sense isn't as strong, another steps up its game to compensate.

For example, think about someone who loses their sight. Suddenly, their hearing becomes super sharp. It's like their brain rewires itself to make up for the loss. It's pretty incredible how adaptable we are as humans.

But sometimes, it's not just about the physical senses. There are moments in life when we choose to 'turn a blind eye' to something we don't want to face. Maybe it's a difficult truth or a painful reality. We might try to block it out, ignore it, pretend it's not there. It's like we're choosing not to see or acknowledge what's right in front of us.