Opening Doors.

I'm terrified of the future as it waits for me, squirming in its chair, tapping its foot impatiently to the ground as it expects me to open the door. I feel it should have learned by now that day may never come. Is it angry with me? Does it understand my fears? Or perhaps it feels nothing at all, all it knows is that I must go through that door, but I can't bring myself to even touch the doorknob. I stand there, staring at the door, I dare not a raise a hand anywhere towards it as if arms will reach out and force me to open it. I know my future will rip the door open if I don't.

I don't know what's worse, waiting for someone on the other side to open it at any moment, at any wrong time, at possibly the worst time, or for me to open it myself, for me to be the catalyst and change everything. I can fight it all I want, but I know I'm delaying the inevitable. If I don't come willingly, I won't be guided with a gentle hand. Change is going to grip my wrists and pull me through, even if his nails dig into my veins and my blood splatters across the floorboards, even if it has to draw blood that isn't my own.

I'm so afraid of what I'll see on the other side. I'll fight with everything I have to not go through, even if that ends up costing me more trouble than as if I had simply turned the knob and walked inside. I never seem to learn, I only become more afraid. I only feel comfort in the constant decision to stay behind these doors until the very last moment where the rug is pulled out from under me and I go through it all once again.