I can feel you, squirming just below the surface in that cage my anxiety has built for you. You rest just below my RBF and too dry sarcasm, nestled between the introverted and extroverted parts of myself. You bear witness to the terrible things I whisper to myself every day; the hyperboles I speak in. While I do my collecting of criticism, you collect my praise like fallen drops of sun, whispering them up at me when no one else is around; when I let my guard down enough to hear you.
You murmur to me “be kind” because you know that under my rough exterior I want the world to love and be loved. You assure me that I am brave because you know that the thoughts can cripple me. And when I am lying in my bed, swirling under a mass of thoughts, you poke at the parts of myself I’d thought had died, piercing through the darkness and bringing life back. You remind me that I am worthy of my life, and that in the moments most difficult, my feet are still on the ground and my heart's still beating.
On occasion I think about letting you out, because deep down I know that I was the one who hid you. I say that it was to keep you safe. To protect you from the wounds of the world, the warning signs my mind were sending me. But that cage you’ve been living in has rusted over, it’s hinges brought together by time and sadness. Your voice is muffled under the sounds of the depression, it’s raging voice both loud and quiet like life heard from underwater. As loud as you shout, the anxiety shouts louder, until the only voice I can hear is the panicked and doubt. And as much as I know you are there, wishing and pleading to be heard again, I succumb, and my tears come. I know you can feel me fading, as the feelings of self doubt, self loathing, self destruction fill my veins, and you panic.
And yet, as I am making myself quieter, smaller, less likeable, you are unapologetic in your noise. You belt from your perch, letting the air out with a cascading force that rumbles just below my skin. But I silence you. I raise my voice in public spaces so people don’t hear your humming in my skin. I shout my opinions and my anger because it’s more direct than letting them listen to you. I know you are right, that you hold the key to my happiness. So why do I fight so hard to keep you hidden away? I fear the
Right now, you are just mine. You are the brightest part of myself, untainted by the harshness of the world, protected by my army of demons. And when I am alone, when I am safe, among the trees or hidden somewhere no one can find me, I dig down and listen to the sound of your voice. I let your light fill me up, and I smile--really smile-- and let the warmth take over as you stretch through my fingertips. I relish in the moment, because I know that soon I will have to put you back. For whispering in the background is my anxiety, my depression, my helplessness, reminding me that I don’t know what the world would do to you if they ever saw you.
It is my fear that keeps you hidden away. I want so desperately to break the bars of your cage and let you spread your wings again. I want to be okay with being the person that I am, and letting you guide me again. Yet, as easy as it seems, the doubt is overwhelming. I promise you that I will start digging through the fear and doubt, so that bit by bit I may uncover your brilliance. One day, we will meet again in a world that loves you as much as I do.
With love.
