Monday, November 19, 2012

Vulnerability.

 My unsaid words are weighing me down.
I've been trying to let things go, to not worry about anything.

I though my troubles would float away like balloons.
But they don't.

 They stick to my skin and create this crust and are cutting off my air supply.

 It's true that not everything has to be said, but I'm not saying anything. My throat is clogged with the feelings I swallow.

I used to be so open. I used to be transparent. But glass is vulnerable; glass is flimsy. That's what I thought, anyway.

People often describe me as brave. Courageous. I jump of bridges and eat worms and  kill spiders, but that doesn't make me courageous.

The word "courageous" comes from the Latin word "cor" which means "heart". Being courageous involves putting your heart on the line even if it terrifies you. Courageous means following what your heart tells you. Courageous means not hiding or being ashamed of your feelings.

I'm trying so hard to not be dramatic that I'm losing my courage. I fear to say what's in my heart because I'm trying to be un-childish. Un-emotional. Un-whateverIwas.

The word "vulnerable" comes from the Latin word "vulner" which means "wound". Being vulnerable means showing your wounds, exposing your Achilles Heel. Allowing your enemies and your demons to see your soft spot.

So often we look at vulnerability as a bad thing. As something to avoid. We see vulnerability as a weakness.

But if we build our walls so thick that our enemies can't get in, neither can our friends. If we build our walls so thick that nothing can hurt us, then we can never escape ourselves.

I've been trying to hard to block up ever crack in my wall of invulnerability that I've sacrificed my courage in the process.

I'm going crazy in my self-made citadel with only myself for company.
I'm trying so hard not to care, not to sweat anything, not to feel any sadness.
I'm drowning in the feelings I've locked in.
I built a submarine to keep myself safe, but I'm running out of air and I feel a drip drip drip from the ceiling.

I've buried myself in Green Gables and Downton so that I don't have to feel my own feelings.

I've lost my vulnerability, and so I've lost my courage.

It's hard to find anything more terrifying than the loneliness that comes when I'm on my knees crying and sobbing and I discover that I've lost the ability to be honest with myself.

Your struggle is not your identity.


Be you, bravely.

1 comment:

  1. so obsessed. this literally might be your best work so far. you are genius. and so is this. i relate!

    ReplyDelete