I plop into bed, fully clothed. I wrap myself in my white, plush covers — comfortable enough to fall fast asleep. But of course, my mind had other plans. It had plans to stare at the wall in front of me and recount everything I could have done differently to lead a better life. A lifestyle allowing me to return home at a decent hour and greet my dog, husband and children I didn’t have yet was all I could think about. For goodness sake, I don’t even have time to care for a plant. I was under the notion that after I landed a career as a lawyer I would finally start my life. It had been fifteen years and I’m still waiting on my life to start.
The more I stared at the bare wall in front of me thinking about everything but sleep, the more I hoped for a life that would allow me a few minutes to even decorate. I had everything but extra time and a family. This led to modest walls making my life seem almost more lonely than it was. I had no family pictures, no inspirational wall sticker quotes, not even a clock, just the standard off-white paint that my three bedroom house came with. No point in decorating when I’m always gone.
Workaholic, they call me.
Copeaholic, I call me.
The more I stared at the wall the more I started to get the feeling I wasn’t alone. The prickly, panicky feeling of fear began to creep up my spine. The heavy breathing that came from behind me, paralyzed my body. Was a criminal I had a hand in convicting out of jail, fixed on revenge? Was I too focused on sleep that I failed to lock the door when I came in? Maybe I’ve never been alone in this house and he’s been here the entire time, lying in wait until the precise moment. I’m too scared to turn around so instead I start screaming at the wall until it feels like my head is coming off. I stop screaming, open my eyes and turn around. I realize the only thing I’m fearing is fear because there is nothing there.
Maybe I should put some pictures on the wall.