I started this blog a year ago.
To bring a small, dim light to the darkest pieces of my soul. To heal from the cracks and the wreckage that is left from weathering storm after storm. To clean out the dust and the dirt from the corners of my broken heart. To allow myself to finally, finally really let my guard down and breathe. To be me, without fear of what that meant to anyone else. Without thought as to who would care enough to stay and who would disappear.
It was a safe place. Somewhere I could write whatever I wanted, about whatever I wanted. Somewhere I could just be. I didn’t even tell anyone about it for months. I had a few readers occasionally but no one I knew. It wasn’t for them. It was for me. It’s always, always just been for me. The letters, the statements, the conversation. This blog is not where I came to write what I couldn’t say to others. It’s where I came to find voice for the words that I couldn’t say to myself. When I was so broken. When I was so low. This was the place I used to put the pieces back together. To pick myself up and dust myself off and keep on moving forward when, quite frankly, I just wanted to quit. I wasn’t afraid here. After all that has happened. After all the demons and the people that have chased me and hurt me, here I was finally safe. From them. From myself.
It’s not safe here anymore.
I see these views from that place I wanted so badly to be –although, if we’re honest, the only place I really wanted to be was with you — and I can’t be honest about who I am now or what I’m feeling because I keep wondering if it’s you. Or if it’s an intruder.
See, you I let in by choice. Too fast, maybe. Too trusting, clearly. But I wanted you there. You told me to let my walls down. That you wanted to help me. You told me you wanted to hear my nightmares and my story and that you wanted to protect me from the things and the people that hurt me so badly in the past. You wanted to be different. But some of the things that came into my life along with you were not things or people I wanted inside. And all of a sudden this place wasn’t my safe house anymore.
And now I wonder if I need to stop. If it’s you. I wonder if you want to know what’s in my head. If it’s fair for you to know what’s in my head when I literally am wandering blind. And if it’s not. The thought of someone knowing my mind and my heart is scary. Especially when I fear it will be used against me. My own words, a weapon that could destroy me.
And I don’t want them to seem like a weapon. This is not a battlefield but a place of refuge. I don’t come here to engage in warfare, nor do I come here to manipulate or deceive. This is where I come to lay it all out and make sense of it all.
So where am I supposed to go now?