But I won't ever really tell you that.

I wake up each day and do things I'm supposed to do.

I work and go to school like my parents would want me to. I keep up with my relationship, and I post about how happy I am. But I'm afraid.

I don't really know what I'm doing or how it's suppose to be done. I look at other people succeeding and assume I'm meant to as well, but really everyday that I live I'm playing along with what the world wants me to be, and who really knows if this is actually living.

I'm. Afraid. To. Death.

I go to school, I make it look like the world I'm living is a world worth living, but do you really even know?

I don't think you do.

Because unless you're actually happy, and unless the world you're living in each day makes you happy for the next, I don't know if you're living either, so are you afraid to death too?

I am.

I don't know if the man I'm with now is my soul mate, and I don't know if the degree I'm going after is going to lead me to a life of complete bliss. But I'm doing it anyway.

I promised my mom that if I could do it all over, that this is the road I would go down-and maybe it is. But I can't help but wonder if this was the road I was meant for at all, why do I keep asking myself the same things? I keep going on the same path, the same road, to the same destination wondering if this is what I was meant to do. I can't help but ask myself: "What if it's not?"

Then what?

Do I start over?

Pretend that everything leading up to this was meant for something? Or do I admit the last three years of my life were a joke?

I don't know what to do.

Some days I'm happy. I thank God for where I'm at. I thank God for the people beside me that made me strong, and the people beside me that showed me I could actually respect the person I had become. I thank God for that.

But I can't help but wonder if the path I'm on is the right one.

I can't help but wonder if I actually have a soul mate or if I'm meant to find a person close to that. Do we ever find our passion? Or is it just a hunch. Does the right time even exist or do we pretend it does?

Do the questions ever really stop? Do we ever actually know.

Is there this gut feeling that never goes away?

That the path were on is the right guy.

The right job.

The right location.

The right life.

I don't know.

And as I get older I get more and more afraid.

Because my time is running out and even though some people may tell me I have all the time in the world I know I actually don't.

Because we don't.

Our time is actually limited.

If we aren't married by this time,

if we aren't having kids by this time.

If we don't have our dream job by this time.

If we don't look the part by this time.

We're fucked.

Please believe me that I'm trying my hardest. I am trying my absolute hardest because I know if I don't there will be the people that have pretended to always have my best interest at heart talking about me failing. That's sad isn't it? That the ones that pretend they want you to succeed are the first people to talk shit on you when you don't?

I'm fucking terrified.

I'm terrified that my life isn't where it's suppose to be. That the job I'm going for won't ever be something within reach. I'm afraid that the man I'm suppose to love or the children I'm suppose to have won't ever be a thing.

But there's no one to tell this to but myself, so I keep it in.

Because that's what people with "everything together" does right?

They keep it all in?

Pretending that the only problems they have are what breakfast they're going to have in the morning, or what exercise they'll do later that night.

Ha.

I'm afraid.

And fuck, maybe I'm not suppose to say that, and maybe I blew my cover.

Maybe today is the last day I'll ever feel like I'll ever really know again, but at least I admit it.

I'm scared to death.

Of the world. Of my future. Of the job I'm suppose to do. Husband I'm suppose to love. And kids I'm suppose to take care of.

Because what if I can't?

What if I'm not good enough then soon enough everyone knows all on their own?

The people who supported me? The friends who confinded in me? The love that was given to me..

What if it was all for nothing?

What if all I ever was, was a joke?

Maybe I'll be fine, but maybe I won't.

At least now you know.

I'm fucking afraid.