There is a difference between protection and jealousy. When they overlap, then get tangled up and it's hard for me to comb out the knots. I play hopscotch with the line that divides the two powers, when it's convenient. Only in the lull of quiet car rides do I let myself analyze the space between them.
I read books, sucking out the information, the therapeutic lines cradling my tired mind. But finished books turn to bricks, sometimes. The thoughts and points I make note to remember sink. Deep down, unreachable knowing I know is there, somewhere.
Certain people act as these book bricks. I feed my soul with conversations and laughter; it fills the cracks in my heart, mending them until I am alone to think. I think too much and then the laughter fades, the thoughts' weight pulls and pushes and confuses, breaking me below the surface again. Sometimes these damaging thoughts, or spoken words, are not my own. I put a bandage on the break and, slowly, off it's pulled. It won't work, it won't work, it won't work. Your hopscotch is a game for children and you are getting too old to be playing that game.
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The title of this post, and the courage to write down what I am feeling lately, stemmed from a line in Emily's most recent post here.
3 comments:
This song, yes.
I almost didn't hit publish on the "loner" post. I only did because I thought of you and how honestly (and heartbreaking in a powerful, strong, beautiful way) you write and share your story with anxiety. And I hit publish because it seemed so much less than what you share, and you do it with courage. I so, so admire that.
This post? YES. Yes, yes, yes.
I wish I lived closer.... XO
Love this post. Stunning, stunning writing. You're the bravest person I know. :)
Oh Em to-the Gee.. I love your new header! So lovely!
I get to see you in threeeeeeee days!
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