Orphaned?

I'm not feeling great tonight. I'm sad. I have been toying with this blog for a couple of hours, mostly staring and smoking and not being able to life a finger to type a decent sentence. I thought something would happen, it's a heavy (on the inside) feeling I've dragged with me all through the day. I smiled at little people, not the usual bright smiles, just feeble smiles so as to reciprocate their cheery hallos. Inside it felt all wrong. I just wanted to be left on my own so I could draw the shutters on everybody else. But I didn't do that, and each word, each step became so heavier that I couldn't bear it. It's not the fault of little people or of the buildings which house them through the morning. It wasn't anybody's fault, just me and this feeling of dread. And I did get the answer, one which rocked my internal being. The fucking death issue. People getting sick and the fear they might die. And the reality that I might be yet another orphan. I don't want to be an orphan, I'm not grown up enough to be one as yet. I don't want the dynamics of life to change, not for another 40 years in fact. Perhaps I could cope with life changing by a tiny little addition in the form of a bundle of joy, but this is nothing like it. And I am in total shock. And at a time when I should be a rock, I am just a measly mud pie. I should be the shoulder to cry on, and yet I have bawled my eyes out. I thought that I'd stared enough at death so the next time it struck I would be a pro at handling it. Wrong, very wrong. I am one big baby who is so scared that her coping skills are suddenly reduced to a zero and just goes onto instinct, the crying. People say I'm strong? Me? I feel exhausted. So I did what I always do... hide and sleep and hope that it will go away. It hasn't, but there is hope. And I still cry, probably a little for myself too, and I just want to sleep. Because no, I'm not ready to be an orphan.