Time and again, I catch myself in a pattern of forced silence. Oh, I speak to people, but the deeper things are squashed down to the point of making myself ill.
Why? I can’t figure it out myself. It almost seems a sort of passive-aggressive self-flagellation, a punishment that leaves no marks except for an occasional glimpse in my eyes of the frantic buzzing in my head.
We are all a little weird in some way. This is mine. Judge not, etc.
That deep need (and I have finally accepted that it is, in fact, a real need) to write, to engage with another mind on things that matter to me, to wrestle with questions, or just to express an emotion and know that some other soul understands – this need gets in the way of what I should be doing in the real world. I push it down when responsibilities demand more of me. But this burning IS part of my reality. It is me. Finding and keeping balance is not always easy, though.
of this day’s
of all that
if not for the
and I struggle
the why of it.
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7989285@N07/3002914861/">Demion</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a>