I'm sitting in a protective bubble. It cannot be seen, and it cannot be felt, but it is there nevertheless. For proof of its presence one need only recognize one simple fact.

I am not crying.

I should be crying, but I'm not. I should be devastated, but I'm not. I should be so upset and heartbroken that even the reflexive tapping of my fingers against this keyboard should prove to be impossible for me.

But I'm not.

Where this bubble came from, I don't know. It certainly wasn't any of my doing. The last time I found myself in what I thought was a safe haven, what I perceived to be a secure harbor, the last time I thought I was protected from harm - well that turned out to be the biggest lie I'd ever told myself.

And when that bubble burst, when that bubble burst is the day that I died. And I vowed that, if I could somehow manage to bring myself back from the dead, that I'd never lie to myself again.

For now though, I'm still here. This bubble still somehow manages to protect me. Though the monsters of this new reality rage all around me I am somehow, miraculously, still here. Still safe.

I don't understand it.

I don't believe it.

I don't trust it.

This bubble will burst, and then the monsters will claw me to pieces, and I will die once again.

This will happen. It's only a matter of time.