I’ve always wondered how self-destructive I can be. How far can you push yourself before you’ve gone too far? What will it take to destroy me completely?
Millie says she’s scared for me because I say I feel invisible. She says I’m distant, not always there, slowly floating away. I guess I never saw it that way before, but she has a point: I’ve always been floating away. Ever since I was little, it was easier for me to be invisible than draw attention to myself.
I’m quiet and I don’t really always like to feel. Suppression has always been my method of choice. It backfires, of course, because then when I do feel, everything feels three times as strong. Sadness, anger, joy, fear – I can’t tell when I’m feeling what until a day later, and then it’s too late. I try too hard to be rational and detached, but that’s really just digging my own grave, isn’t it?
It’s always the same: slowly let myself open up and break down the walls, get too close to others, push too far, watch it implode. After you break yourself open, it’s hard to put yourself together again. It takes time and it takes a retreat to lick your wounds and get back on your feet. And then you rebuild: rebuild the walls, rebuild the emotional guard you were stupid enough to let down.
I waver constantly between being happy to break down and taking pride in standing tall. The two come in waves, one after the other. I wonder if my confidence is a farce though. I don’t think I’m whole enough to be too self-assured. I’ve had a lot in life that has slowly worn me down and I’m afraid I’m about to burn out and fade away entirely.