Hidden Vises

The empty space of waiting for something to happen, just something, anything at all, to happen after you've set your goals and started down the path is that terrifying moment of "Am I doing the right thing?"

It's a question I ask all the damn time. It's a fear that was drilled into me from so many years ago, that no therapist will ever hear, but that the words will spill out and be told somehow, somewhere, some here.

My soul aches at the invisible shield that I've placed around myself, guarding what I think should be guarded and removing what I think should be removed, all for the safety of someone else's feelings. Bare it all, I say, damn the torpedoes. But then again, I have bared it all, and I am perfectly fine baring it all. For myself. Not for others.

Wait. What? I mean I will talk and share and be naked and honest and warped with a twist of putting my foot in my mouth, all about myself. But I respect or fear that other people in the world that may surround mine may not like it so much and so I scrub those words to shelter them in.

Trauma is a funny thing. No, no it's not. But it is. It is something that needs to be funny to deal with and yet the inner tearing pain is what pulls apart like a zipper caught on fabric, ripping at metal teeth and grinding at loose threads. I know not how I stand here on any given day, yet I stand and decry the injustice of a world that is sometimes so mean. Viva la difference.