And Yet ...

Sigh. So much to write about, so much. Yet ...

Writing is such wonderful therapy. When troubled: write. When upset: write. When I'm sad, down and depressed: write. When I'm lost, confused and trying to make sense of things: write. Yet ...

Deciding to leave the past where it belongs - in the past - is one thing. Moving on from it is another. Thing is, it is not an instantaneous process. It will - it must - progress at its own pace. I can't hurry it. And yet ...

I wish I could.

Of late, I've been living my life in the third perspective. I see what's going on, I am aware of it, yet I am removed from it all. It's like watching a movie. Nothing is personal, nothing affects me. Nothing breaks through this stasis.

I wish it wasn't so. I want to feel.

I am tired of living behind walls, of being numb, of feeling indifferent. It's wanting something, desiring something so much, yet not being able to reach out and grasp what is only an arm's length away.

With Him, it was necessary to erect an emotional buffer. When I was happy with him, I was insanely happy. Love is a powerful drug. But when I was upset, it would plunge me into an abyss of despair so absolute and overwhelming that there was nothing left for me to do but to hide and sob as if my soul was being rent into a hundred million pieces. A bit bombastic, but you know what? That really was exactly what it felt like. The highs were unbelievably high, and the lows so despairingly low. Love is a powerful drug.

So what did I do? I retreated into myself, reasoning that it was by far better to feel nothing than a destructive whirlwind of emotions. It didn't make me happy, but at least I no longer wished I would go to sleep and never wake up just so the insanity would stop. The oblivion of sleep, when I could sleep, was a blessing, a small respite from my torment, and being numb was better than going insane ... but now I'm beginning to wonder if living in an emotional fortress is any better?

I am afraid of opening myself to the possibility of disappointment again. I am not a risk-taker by nature. I am cautious, and deliberate. It takes me a while to get used to an idea, I need to let it float around in my head awhile, ponder it, meditate on it, become accustomed to the feel of it first before being able to decide what to do about it, before acting on it. I realise that this may cause me to miss certain opportunities, but I'd rather miss a few opportunities than suffer the consequences of a rash decision.

.. And I'm only just realising that sometimes what I need is a gentle, but firm push in the right direction. I am not afraid of change, but I am rarely confident enough to take that crucial first step. And much as I don't like being pushed, I think that sometimes I do need it. Only don't push too far. :o)

Nothing new, is this? *chuckles* As if I am the first person to ever go through it all. But maybe it really is time to come out of my cocoon and live again.

I'm so sorry, pet. You make me happy. Happier, at least. Sometimes. Most times. I miss the scent of you.

You're just there. And I'm trying to reach out.