An Internal Storm

When I was younger, I wanted to be a mermaid.
Now, my mind drowns underwater, and I'm trapped under a surface of fear.
I wish I could breathe.
My heart beats faster than a drummer's snare: Staccato pulses packed with an immeasurable force.
My body shakes like the trees you'd see in a storm.
But the storm is not an external occurrence; the storm erupts from inside.
My thoughts are lightning.
They strike down, violently setting my emotions on fire.
"Go inside", you may say. But one cannot seek shelter from a storm that follows the soul.
Stalking, preying, and eroding in the depths of my mind, I can only hope the storm will pass.
I wish to see blue skies and rays of sunshine.
When I was younger, I thought art came to life. I thought drawing people would make them real.
No little girl has a lonely mind, if their creations accompany them.
Now, I artfully push charcoal pencils across a page to erase the loneliness and distract the storm.
But the lines laugh at me.
I open a book to live a different reality and create a world of my own.
But when I close the book, reality sits on the edge of my bed and smirks.
"You're going to keep running, aren't you? You're wasting your time".
And then I realize that the storm is something I cannot control, just as time will push the hands of a clock, indefinitely.
Time is the storm.
Because time will continue to run its course, the storm will always be in my skies. I have to create my own umbrella.
I have a fear of losing time, of not making the right decisions, and a fear of never finding who I'm supposed to be.
Maybe one day, ill float over the surface of fear, and pretend I'm that mermaid the little girl in me created.
All I have is time.