We sat at dinner; I was the youngest yet I proclaimed, “I feel so old.” Heads turned towards me, sighs escaped pressed lips, clearly I was wrong.
Trying to fix my words, I struggled over an explanation. Nothing came out right. “I felt that way before too. I felt like I didn’t have any time left. Young people feel like they’re running out of time and older people feel like they have a lot of time.” She shared my story better than I had. It only mattered to me that I wasn’t alone.
I started having panic attacks over the summer. They were triggered by the idea that there isn’t much time left for the world if we don’t start taking care of it. I began to think about where I’ll go. Heaven or an abyss of nothingness. I got hot and thought a murder-suicide would be the best answer. The choice to die was better than no choice at all. Right?
My panic attacks triggered something else, a realization that I don’t have enough time to do everything I want to do. I’m afraid. I’m only 21 and I don’t have enough time to do everything. I’m constantly in a race to beat the clock. Often making lists of things to do, I never follow through. I don’t have enough time.
I just want to stop.
He tells me to “slow down.” I can’t.
I just don’t think I’ll survive if I do.