I’m not sure exactly when it happened. It must have been gradual - a long process of constant sleep-ins and missed phone calls - but one day I woke up to the realization that I had somehow disconnected myself from the rest of the world. Just like that, I suddenly had nobody to call to have coffee with, no Friday night to plan, no one to ask me how my week was. I honestly think if I fell off the face of the earth tomorrow, I could literally count the people that would notice on one hand. The worst thing is I don’t think I even care enough to try and change it. It’s not that I don’t want to. I can imagine myself being social and happy and fun again; but the effort involved in making that a reality is too daunting and too difficult to even try. Or maybe thats not it. Maybe I’m just scared. Scared that if I did try, I wouldn’t be able to get it back. That society, instead of embracing me, would forsake me, and leave me worse off than before. Scared that ‘that life’, which I now hold with such high esteem, as something great; something worth striving for, that maybe it’s not all that my imagination or my memory has cracked it up to be. Scared that maybe this solitary, apathetic, spiteful creature is in fact who I am now, and that if I try and change that and it doesn’t work, I may just have to accept my sad little life as a reality, not just a phase. And if that happens, even my imagination won’t be able to save me anymore. I will be doomed to suffer the rest of my days, lonely and desolate, until I eventually leave this world a bitter and angry old woman, hating everything and everyone for taking away my youth and my happiness, when really, I only have myself to blame.

Yes, that is what I am scared of.