Those days don’t come very often.
But when they do, every bone in my body feels it.
It’s an all-consuming thing, I’ve come to realize. It latches on to me when the sun rises and doesn’t let go even after the sun has already long set:
Why do you never open up to people?
Why don’t you let anyone in?
Why are you so ADAMANT on keeping your problems to yourself?
...It’s not something I can easily answer.
It’s not an answer I can easily face.
But then there are days when I would tell myself it’s okay,
There are people who care about you.
There are people who would be there for you,
Who would understand you,
Who would love you.
There are days when I think it’s okay.
When I think it’s okay to let my walls down, and open myself up to someone.
So when I sat beside my mother today and told her what was on my mind, I was hoping for a semblance of care.
A hug would be a stretch. A kiss on the forehead even more so.
Even being offered comforting words was a shot in the dark.
All I was holding on to, really, was the hope of being listened to.
I was holding on to the possibility that, maybe, this time around, she would take the time to listen to what I have to say. To let me talk. To let me pour my overflowing heart out.
But instead all I got was a reminder of the reason why I never open myself up to anyone,
And the cruel act of the person in my head adding another brick on the towering wall I’ve built around myself.