Words.

It's true; I hide behind my words so I won't have to face reality. I cover my emotions with letters and sentences and paragraphs hoping no one will notice that between the lines, I'm crumbling. I'm sobbing. Writing helps me focus, helps me calm down long enough to actually gather my thoughts and try to make some sense of the situation. If I couldn't put words to paper, I'd be completely lost. Not that I'm not lost already.

One day my hands will stop doing what I want them to do and I'll have to put down my pens forever. I won't be able to write a single word and that will absolutely kill me, but I have to accept that fate. I cower in fear until that day and every moment my fingers flail, as they attempt to grasp hold of the pen but it slips away, I want to put the gun in my mouth and pull the damn trigger.

Words are all I have. They are my mask, my shield, my invisibility cloak... my everything. Without them, I am pure nothingness.