Mar 26, 2008 07:47
A few weeks ago I expected to be going home on a plane alone. I was dreading it, with every single part of me. I'd imagined the scene a number of times and I was certain I'd spend a lot of the flight sobbing. I didn't have to do that because I wasn't alone and it wasn't the horrible experience I expected at all. Just the opposite. The relief I felt then to not have been faced with that moment I feared most was something I couldn't have been more thankful for. But now I'm headed to a different place, out of the country, on another plane. And the moment I dreaded is almost three weeks late, happening now instead of then.
When I open myself up to someone else, I'm giving up part of myself to them. The part that shields me from anything that can hurt me. I'm taking away my safety net and walking a tightrope. On trust alone. You take this risk with every person you put faith in. Because they become responsible for catching you if you screw up or tilt off center, you have no other support. They're your balance. If one of them someone steps back and decides they don't want to spot you anymore, you're going to be less secure than you were before. Becoming more at risk to fall. Every time this happens, you're forced to take a look around you and re-evaluate who and what you've believed in all along. And when those you've depended on most suddenly decide they don't value you enough to keep you from breaking, you stop believing all together. It's a cruel fate, to feel like you're always to be left alone to walk the line by yourself. If you stop trusting in everyone, you're going to drop. Your knees shake and you'll choke on your heart. No more stability and nothing to break your fall. Just the inevitable of the pain that awaits you, and the eventual recovery.
Nearly four months since the last time, and my heart has been handed back to me again.