It has been so long since I’ve written.

I used to find such joy in reading and writing. Now I must make a conscious effort to do either. It has become much harder to choose words that come to life and create imagery. I miss it. I crave the mental state in which my writing flourishes. For now, my head is slammed with technicalities, statistics, and research. School has caused me to read and write factually; the art of painting with words has been lost.

My ponderings today:

Why are those closest to me the ones who threaten me most? It is something about letting my emotional guard down and pouring into them… I know their secrets, they know mine. I’ve exposed myself to them. I can’t take it back. I subconsciously dive into a world of comparison, of devaluing the life and decisions of those around me. I destroy my own trust as I wander into a mental prison and compare myself to others’. I get offended by things I’ve only perceived committed, never by a definitive act. I spend my time judging the motives of others in order to escape confronting my heart. I excuse the futility of my life by focusing on the flaws of others. My own thoughts create distance in my relationships. I spend my time doubting the sincerity of my friends. Hours after we’ve hugged goodbye, my mind is replaying the day in attempts to see what I missed, searching for evidence of feigned affections. In doing so, I hurt everyone.

Do I battle alone, or does everyone flee vulnerability? Having been emotionally ambushed once, am I just running from pain? Is bitterness my self-defense? Do I need to know the root of my problem in order to change? All I know is I need to shed my emotionally bullet proof vest and take the bullets out of my gun. I can never be a friend while viewing everyone as an enemy.


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