Dear Owls, It's simple.

Dear Owls, 

Everything erupts at the same time. 

Suddenly, your chest feels like it's hallow. It feels like, if you sneezed, every bit of patience you have to not take your own life, will just fly out. When everything goes wrong at the same time, you just bite onto the one comfort that everything gets better. You bite so hard, your lip bleeds and your stomach empties, you still have hope though. But, the thing is... when everything erupts, you don't want to hold anymore. You just want to jump and fight and fall, just fall to the ground and never get back up. Your tears get heavier and your heart gets so soft. Vulnerable and confused, you start to beat at the wind, and cry at the storms and plead the only God you know to reconsider the fate you've set your foot on.  And every time you get over the eruption, you make sure next time you've taken precautions. Next time it won't hurt this much. So, you do like they do in the movies. You grab a metaphorical backpack and put everything you need for next time.

And God knows you've set out a backup plan, an escape plan, and you've put pads on your heart so the bullets don't damage you, you've put an oxygen tank for the next time your lungs concave, you even have a spare sock in case one goes missing; because anything can set you off when things erupt, especially a missing sock. You've put things in the backpack you didn't even know you needed. You put things that make you seem paranoid and helpless, but they're vital to keep. They're vital to keep because next time you're gonna be prepared, no matter how it looks. You're not going to feel what you felt the first time.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
And so you zip your backpack up and make sure your feet don't wobble as you get up. You make sure to tie your hair out of your face and your emotions, and the most important thing to do when you pack your life up, the most vital thing to do before you pack your survival backpack, before you make a checklist of everything you need, before everything, the most crucial thing to do is make sure no one sees you packing your bag. 

You have to ensure full confidentiality of anything you put inside. No one must know you're even packing a bag, because is it human nature to be curious, it is human to want to know other human's weaknesses because one day, they'll use it all against you. 

It might sound lonely, to be the only one that knows what brings you down on your knees, but it's also less dangerous. 

But you want to know what's the worst thing about everything erupting at the same time? 

...everybody runs away from eruptions. 

Nobody is going to be there for you when things erupt. Or ever after. They might pretend, or show you the sympathy they think you need, but no one will actually be there for you. And even if they are, will you really find it in you to let them in? 

I wouldn't. 

Dear Owls, it's a process. It's a learning process. It's right or wrong. It's yes or no. It's the feeling you get on your way to your school bus, hoping you wouldn't fall down when the bus moves. If you fall, everyone laughs, there's no getting around the humiliation. It's a sad world we live in. Pleasing others rather than pleasing yourself. Loving the life you live, rather than living the life you love. 

It all comes down to choices. Whether you run from the eruption or you save the people who need to run further. Whether you pack your bag and take all the precautions you need, or just live life. 

Just live like nothing could hurt you. Because either way, whether you've got a backpack or not, you're still going to be hurt by something unexpected, something you're not prepared for, something you never knew could hurt you in an eruption- like a bee sting perhaps. 

Nothing is worse than being stung by a bee when you're running from an erupting volcano. 

Well, Owls, I'm trying. 

I'm starting to think I'm becoming insane. One second I'm fine, and the next I'm in tears. It actually, as mentioned, has gotten worse. I'm hurting people around me more often, and I have a feeling they're finding it harder to forgive me. 

Yours with a snack getting read to watch Dead Poets Society, 

still subtly grieving for Robbin Williams, 

Me.