Maybe the Walls Aren’t All That Bad

I’ve written before about feeling like the wall I put up around me is even stronger than I ever hoped it would be. Maybe it was even a little too strong.

But then life reminds me why I wanted to close off part of myself in the first place.

It’s been a tumultuous few weeks. Up and down, up and down. The events themselves stop mattering. All that matters is trying to deal with the onslaught of raw emotion.

It’s times like these that I realize I seem to be lacking in coping skills. There are only so many friends I can text. There are only so many words I can find to put a name to the hollow feeling. Today I spent two hours on my novel and barely made a dent. Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach. Right now it’s all trapped inside, but maybe I need to fully open the floodgates before I try to control and shape the river of thoughts. I wish I could say that this is my attempt to do exactly that, but we all know I would be lying.

I’ve certainly made it clear that my emotions are raw and spent, and yet I can’t bring myself to say much more. I’m too selfish to share some memories. Other memories remind me of how weak I feel, and my pride prevents me from sharing those.

Hell, I’m so afraid of my own thoughts that even the anonymity of Whisper doesn’t seem to provide enough cover. Believe me, I tried. I downloaded the app last week in hopes that I could share with strangers the thoughts I was too scared to share with friends. Instead I kept typing the words only to delete them.

Last fall I wanted to break free of the prison that’s been guarding my heart and soul for so long. Tonight, I just want to find refuge within.

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