Locked In

Sometimes I resort to writing because I don't know what is going on inside. There is a cacophony of thoughts, feelings and memories squeezed inside. For what ever reason, it seems to lack an outlet.

So store up they do. The emotional implications of people's behaviors are fostered: the abrupt tone in which she said good-bye, the way he didn't approach you when you were sitting alone. All I seem to do is think. Ruminate. Internally examine. Over think all my problems.

Unfortunately, the thing I think about most is my problems. Why do I think about them so much, you ask? Well, I wish I could tell you. See that's the thing: there is so much I wish I could say. I wish there was one person I could sit down and offload to for an hour. They would need to be very patient though, I stumble all over my words and sometimes spend a few seconds looking for the right word. They would explore this little big world of mine, with me. Past the waterfall of unexplored possibilities, through the canyons of memories cloaked in a sad, sandy longing.

I keep thinking about that quote: "God helps those who helps themselves" lately. I feel so stuck in life, sadness and emptiness are not far from the "frequently experienced" basket. Most days I feel incapable of helping myself out of this haze. I ask God to help me out, then do nothing to enable God to help me. Vulnerability is like that T-shirt everyone has in their draws, but doesn't really like anymore. It doesn't bring them joy to wear, so they leave it at the bottom of their drawer. Deciding to try it on again, just to see, they are all too aware of how uncomfortable it makes them feel.

Yep. I do not want that T-shirt in my drawers anymore. In fact, life would be so much easier without it. Most writings call for a resolution at this stage, but alas, I can't think of one that I fully believe. I know life gets better. It has to. I am going to be honest with myself and not add a paragraph devoted to how the sun comes out after it stops raining and a pretty rainbow appears. I'm not. But maybe, feeling locked in provides a prism of perspectives on life. Maybe I can write them out, and help myself. Then I can help others as God heals me.