Inner Ramblings of a Random Woman

Popcorn Ceiling

I've lived in a house before, but I "own" this one. In my room, it's got an ugly popcorn ceiling that I always stare at when my mind is foggy or even empty, like it always is. I daydream when I stare at the ceiling, thinking about how my life could be different if I was someone else—someone who doesn't feel like a prisoner in their own home, someone who can actually leave and live their life where depression and anxiety don't exist.

But I know that it can't exist. Or it can—just not with me. Things that I want in my life don't exist; that's just how it always is. It's nice to daydream, though. I like being able to escape, even if it's only temporary. Not everything can be all sunshine and rainbows, though, and I go back to my numb life when I snap back into reality afterward.

I never liked popcorn ceilings; they're very ugly, but I'm glad they exist, because if they didn't, then I'd never be able to see myself as someone else with a better life whenever I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. My fiancé doesn't like popcorn ceilings either; he said he'd like to get rid of them... I hope he doesn't go through with it. All of my dreams will disappear, and I don't know if I can live with the fact that I won't ever be able to daydream again.

I sometimes see myself as a child playing with my friends; other times, I see myself as a dog, living my life with no care in the world while being loved and cared for by my owners. But whenever I look away for a split second, it all comes crashing down, and I regret not staring for longer. It makes me sad, and I scramble to go back to my life as a child or that dog, but it's too late; those dreams are gone, and I can't find them anymore. I tell myself "don't look away," but I never listen to myself.

But I live in this house, and in my room it has an ugly popcorn ceiling that I always stare at when my mind is foggy or even empty, like it always is.