Word Vomit

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling my lungs constricting, the bed sheets wrapping around my body, the darkness overwhelming me. I’m paralyzed and I’m not sure if it’s my body still waking up or just the fear.

It’s not ghosts, monsters or demons that scare me. It’s these little whispers in head that make me wonder if I’m about to follow the yellow brick road straight to crazy land. These insecurities that I manage to suffocate during the day.

I wonder if I’m good enough. If I’ll ever amount to something. If this career I chose isn't just a suicide mission. I chose a path that millions of people take and only a few special persons succeed. So what made me think I could make it? The little awkward girl from Malta whose dreams are bigger than the island she lives on. Is it a cruel joke from Mother Nature? To make us humans want more than we can ever achieve?

Why can I not be happy with finding a mediocre job that earns enough money to afford a roof over my head? Instead of trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and risk ending up on the road, under newspapers, begging for money to be able to buy cheap carton box wine to forget what we did to ourselves. Are we naturally self-destructive? Can we base our lives on the exceptions? Because most of those that succeed are exceptions. There were several other people who were as good but just weren't lucky enough. And for a girl who’s luck can’t even get her a bus on time, well I’m in big trouble.

So I hope. I hope that by working hard and being relatively good, positive karma will reach me back. And let me tell you if karma is a bitch, then hope is karma’s mother. And I am screwed.