Sometimes I feel like I'm balancing on the edge of a cliff when it comes to judging myself. I am so worried about people making fun of me that I don't really show them who I am. I'm afraid that if I admit that I think something is my style or that I really like something, I will be made fun of for it. I'm afraid that if I share who I really am with people, they won't like me anymore and I'll break apart. I hold myself on the edge of the cliff, terrified of backing up because backing up means hiding deeper and deeper inside myself, it means retreating into the cave that is hidden within my heart and possibly never coming out again, and terrified of showing my true self because that means trusting that the cliff edge I'm looking at isn't really there, but my eyes can see it, my ears can hear the water miles below, my heart is beating fast because it knows what could happen. How do I trust that I'm looking at an illusion my mind created, when all of my senses are telling me that it's real? That if I share who I really am, I won't be ripped apart because of it?
Friday, July 31, 2009
The Cliff
Sometimes I feel like I'm balancing on the edge of a cliff when it comes to judging myself. I am so worried about people making fun of me that I don't really show them who I am. I'm afraid that if I admit that I think something is my style or that I really like something, I will be made fun of for it. I'm afraid that if I share who I really am with people, they won't like me anymore and I'll break apart. I hold myself on the edge of the cliff, terrified of backing up because backing up means hiding deeper and deeper inside myself, it means retreating into the cave that is hidden within my heart and possibly never coming out again, and terrified of showing my true self because that means trusting that the cliff edge I'm looking at isn't really there, but my eyes can see it, my ears can hear the water miles below, my heart is beating fast because it knows what could happen. How do I trust that I'm looking at an illusion my mind created, when all of my senses are telling me that it's real? That if I share who I really am, I won't be ripped apart because of it?
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