My therapist in the dark
I am happiest when I’m busy because people are too hard for me. Humanity is full of rocks and sand spurs under your feet. Someone different– healthier– could walk through life and embrace each human interaction grateful they’re alive. I don’t. I shy away from new depths and rejoice in the familiarity of the old without letting anyone get too close.
Keeping myself busy makes me happy because I can retain some semblance of control over the course of events. Even if I make a thousand plans and they go up in smoke it is, for some reason, easy for me to move on with an honest positive attitude. When it comes to human beings, however, I am different. Mortally wounded with each interaction I shake in fear of further injury. Emotional or physical. I don’t know what happened to me as a child that makes me fear for my life when someone is angry, but I do. I am afraid they’ll turn on me and so quickly ending the life I’ve worked so to hard collect from the ground. When I am hurt I become angry because I am afraid. I am afraid that the transgressor is trying to take my life. I cannot tell you how often I cowered in fear of you and myself as the result of no greater catalyst than the past. It was not your doing but rather mine own.
There were moments when your response could not have been more perfect. But, there were more times when your past kicked through the door and wrestled mine to the floor. And there we were in a battle outside of ourselves both trying to survive. You never knew, but things changed because I trusted you more in my yesterday than I did in our first today. I loved you and so I allowed your entrance. The toll may have been too great and I cannot apologize. As I get older the burden will not be so great, but you couldn’t wait for that. I couldn’t ask you to I didn’t know how. I still don’t. And it’s not fair of me to anyway. But, when is anything ever fair?
Until the day comes when I am older I will keep myself busy with the things I believe matter. Someday I will be better… less broken…and I will benefit from that. For now, I have other things on my mind. Until I accomplish those feats I will not be able to focus on anything other than myself.
I’ve never told anyone that. So dear internet, it seems that you are my most valued friend. The one with whom I share all of my secrets. The anonymity of you, dear reader, is refreshing and encouraging. It makes me feel like I’m not dealing with these things alone. My bloody flesh is open for all to see. You are my therapist in the dark to whom I owe no monetary compensation.