"What if I crumble?"

I gasped at the end, those words ringing in my ears.
    It was 2015, about two weeks before I moved off to Austin to pursue a career I thought was my dream. With this move, I would be distancing myself from those closest to me, and from a place that was (for better or for worse) my home. Instead of acknowledging how this made me feel, I ignored it and tried my best to focus on my goals, my "future."
    I was driving home from the house of the guy I had been dating at the time. It had been a fine day. I worked at the library, had lunch with a friend, helped my mom clean her house.   Everything had been great and I found myself wanting to drive off a bridge. Wait, what?
    I broke down. My brain seemed to malfunction. All of those feelings I had suppressed about my upcoming move just burst out. It actually hurt me physically. For some reason, I reached for my phone and started recording myself talking (Side note: I had never used the voice recording app. I annoy myself in my mind enough, why would I want documentation to reinforce this?) (Another side note: Wait, I guess this blog is a form of documentation. Whatever, you get it.) I had no intention of listening to it, or sending it to anyone, obviously. I guess I just wanted to feel like I was talking to someone, without actually talking to anyone, and without getting any response. I spoke of my fears of failure, of loneliness, of not having control. I worried about my future, and if I even had one that was worth living.  I pulled up to my apartment after driving around aimlessly for an hour, talking and crying and panting. Before turning off my car and going inside, I asked myself one final question: "What if I crumble?"
    Fast forward to today, to me sitting on the floor, clearing space on my phone so I can send my sister a picture of my new fish aquarium. I found that recording. To be honest, I remembered making it, but the content was foggy. I never listened to it, and completely forgot it was there. This six minute recording had sat dormant for years. I wasn't sure what it was at first, so I pressed play. My heart jumped at the surprise of hearing my own voice, sounding so distressed and sad. I kept wanting to turn it off, but couldn't bring myself to push the button. I had to know the ending, despite having been the one that created it. And there it was, the final question. "What if I crumble?"
    I gasped at the end, those words ringing in my ears. I sat there, haunted by the sudden silence of the recording snapping off. I wanted to cry, but couldn't. I haven't really cried in a long time, my body lacks the emotional energy. Which leads me to the question, "Is this crumbling?" What I've done to my body, to my mind and spirit. Or rather, what I've been trying to fight. Is this what crumbling is? In the recording, I didn't specify what it meant to crumble, but we seem to get the idea. Have I fulfilled what I feared?
    Maybe I have, unintentionally. Or maybe this is just a trial I'm meant to experience. (Side note: heavy fucking trial that it is. No pun intended. Okay, pun kind of intended.)  Honestly, it doesn't make much difference now. Crumbling or not, I'm not in ruins yet. I strive everyday to rebuild what has been chipped off, or blown off. No matter what, anything that crumbles can be rebuilt. Now, I think that recording has taken up space long enough.
Love and peace to you all.