I don't often tell people that I love them (unless I'm sauced up). I almost never cry in front of anyone. When I'm feeling especially vulnerable, I withdraw into solitude to have my freak out, shed my tears and pick myself back up in preparation for going on with my life. Right now, I'm having one of those recovery moments. A less sensitive (and perhaps a wiser) person would be sleeping right now.
The worst part of wondering what's wrong with me is comparing what is happening right now to things that happened in the past. I guess it's just impossible not to rip open the old wounds. They still hurt, so I suppose they never really healed anyway. I am constantly searching for ways to simplify life. It can't really be as complex and confusing as we make it, can it? How are some people so composed and focused when there are those of us that are just miserably adrift, at the mercy of an unpredictable sea of emotional ups and downs? I can sometimes appear to be the former, but let me assure you that I am the latter. The logic kicks in after I've gone through my stages of mental anguish, and I return to the general population appearing as though nothing has changed. Oh but it has, Blanche. Below the surface, the crack in the shell is still being patched.
Unfortunately, when I plug up one of the holes that leads to my fragile inside, it has less of a chance to show itself to someone. Will it appear this time, or will I be too afraid to let myself be opened up? If I can't feel okay with this level of vulnerability, what hope is there for more intense involvement? See what I mean? I'm reading too much into it. What ever happened to just being in the moment? Did I stray from that path on my own or was I led off? It's time to take a deep breath and get back on it.
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