The Greatest Fear

I just now, at 1:44 am, remembered that I used to write on a blog from time to time. I looked it up and noticed that the last time I wrote was a year and a half ago. That seems a little crazy since I remember writing that post, and I remember when I started this blog. So much has changed. So much has happened that I would never have thought I would have been able to face - but I have come out alive. At least for now the danger is over, the fire quenched. At least for right now life is good. I get to enjoy the energy and capability and freedom to do things normal 19-year-olds get to do. Without being cooped up in a hospital room, drugged up to the nines, and watched like a hawk. Without waking up every morning wondering when I am going to have the courage and the chance to finally end it all. Without longing for nothing but death. My heart has different yearnings now - yearnings for life, love, fun, fitness, accomplishments, education, work satisfaction, playing music, and spending as much of this precious I-love-life time as I can with the people I love. I do not know how long it will last, and that is what scares me. I tend to dream about the things I fear the most - that is where my subconscious brain is inclined to travel. Lately my dreams are haunted by visions of tears, unspeakable inner agony, hospital rooms, train tracks, and the hopeless screams of the people who love me when they find out I am finally dead. Although I do not desire it now, I fear that this sickness is so deeply ingrained in me that nothing will be able to hold it back forever. At some point it will break the temporary shackles of laughter, love and freedom. And it will come back to suck the life out of me, worse than before. Yes, I fear rape because I know how it feels. But lately there has been less rape in my dreams and more of this monster that I hate so much.  Because now there is an even greater fear because I also know how it feels when this monster chokes the life and breath out of me - and it's not going away. My mental illness is my greatest enemy, my greatest fear and my greatest threat to my happiness, success, and ultimately my very life itself.
Perhaps there really is no hope. Perhaps the hope is all just an illusion. Perhaps, soon, the smoke will pass and I will be where I started - on death's door. And this time perhaps it will come back with a force and a passion that my weak being cannot resist. Perhaps the next time will really be the end. Who can tell?