Sunday Scribblings: Who Else Might I Have Been?

"Has there been a dramatic crossroads in your life? A road not taken? If you had taken a left turn instead of a right that day back in 1980... might your whole life had turned out differently?"

I let the darkness enshroud my troubled heart with such a dominating force that I am unable to wave away. It is ruling my life. It taints my intentions, my goodness and even my general ability to function normally.

I feel inferior, tactless and weary. I am tired of caring, tired of fighting and consider largely how easy it would be just to give up and lose it all. Quitting is something that I have very much accepted as a part of my style. I’ve learned to run so hard and so fast from places and from people without having to move my legs very far at all.

Physical endurance was never really my strong point anyway.

I look at relationships within my life with such bitterness. I feel myself pushing everyone away. It is sure easier than having to let them in on the biggest secret that I guard close to me. It is a secret that I naively assum they could never have guessed – that I am not perfect.

I throw tantrums when I’m alone. I yell. I scream, I cry and sometimes I even pray. I pray because I remember not so long ago when a stranger extended a hand of friendship to me – an invitation to see what they could see. I let fear take hold of me and I smacked that outstretched hand away, nevermind that curiosity had screamed at me to take a leap of faith. I pray because I want that opportunity to arise again, but I know it never will.

I long to be heard. I long to beg someone for help. I want guidance and understanding but I am not willing to put my heart on the line. Coupled with that darkness in my heart, is a myriad of shame, spite and extreme jealousy of everyone that seem to be able to smile with a peaceful mind.

Oh God, I hate those people…

I look at those around me with my eyes narrowed to slits, disbelieving, cynical and jaded. I feel like I’m superior, because living like this void of emotion, diffident to everything – I am safe. No one can hurt me because I keep the lock on the door to my heart safely deadlocked. I admit nothing. I want to feel nothing. In fact, I lay in bed and I sleep the days away. It sure beats those panic attacks that encumber me each time I leave the house.

I keep praying.

I want another sign that he doesn’t hate me. I know that he’s so disappointed that I was too scared to invite him in to my heart for tea and scrumpets the first time around, and I’m scared he won’t come knocking again.

And of course the biggest secret of all – I don’t want to be this lonely or this numb forever.