I'm sorry

I have lived in my own head for most of my life.  After all that time, you would expect either insanity or insight.  Neither has occurred.  I have discovered nothing.  My grasp of reality has remained intact.

What I have found not by introspection but by interaction is that I am a coward.  I shy away from this truth.  Having little care for personal safety blinded me to this.  People associate cowardice with threat of physical injury.  Injuries happen.  Death happens.  Being afraid of these things has lead us to valuing a heartbeat rather than life.

No, my cowardice is much more sinister.  You just read an example of it.  When real emotion rises to the surface, when actual conversation may take place, I add a layer of abstraction.  It is not conscious.  It is not intended.  I cannot ever really say how the defense mechanism developed.  I have my theories, but I honestly don't know and I will not blame some event or non-event from the last century for my current behavior.

I cut myself off.  This was not something done to me.  I find myself unable to be angry.  I can't even make comments about "letting my guard down" as I don't know how many layers there are.  I don't trust my own feelings.  I have spent years wondering if my feelings are genuine.

I am broken.  That phrase may not sit well with everyone.  It is mine.  I guess it implies a finality to people.  But broken things can be repaired.  They aren't the same when repaired, but that's why I choose broken rather than bent.  I don't want to return to some earlier state.  I don't know where the cracks are.  That is as far as I'm going to take that analogy.

I may very well write less going forward.  One of the beauties of abstracts is that they don't require sharing.  Reading these blog posts will tell you very little about me and the people I care about.  As I have said often, there are stories that aren't mine to tell or at least not mine alone.  I have no right to share the lives of others with the world and sharing my own life without including them would be a very poor narrative indeed.

Now if you'll excuse me, I will dive into music.  It is the one opening I've always left myself.  It often brings tears.  It can bring joy.  It is something I let wash over me.  If I allow that level of abstraction to come between it and me, its beauty is lost.  It will not forgive the intrusion.  The beat is lost... you can't force the dance.  The lyrics touch nothing.  But close your eyes and just let it be and it will change you.