Perhaps this is due to the fact that I strive to remain "semi-anonymous" here. I have only given this blog title to eight people, eight people that I know in "real life." I'm careful not to use my last name, to name the city where I live, or post a picture of myself.
Part of this is due to my job. Part of it is due to a fear. A fear of what people would think. Would they look at me differently knowing my doubts? My struggle with depression? How I view myself and the world around me? Would it change anything?
I sit tonight, curled up under a quilt, battling yet another migraine (which means I probably shouldn't be on the computer… oops) wanting to share a story. Wanting to share, but not quite sure how.
Pondering how I could share the story it made me wonder, how often in life do we do this? Do we want to share something, a pocket, a doubt, a crazy dream, or a wish but we don't? There is a story stirring in our souls, trying to escape. Desperately seeking to be heard. We hold it in. We put it back in it's box, close the lid, stick it back on the shelf and close the door.
Close the door because we are worried. We are worried about what that thing will say about us. What it might reveal. How it will make others perceive us. Or think about us.
It's scary. It's scary when you realize that part of who YOU are might be reliant on who OTHERS see you as. It is frustrating when you want to be you, and you can't figure out who that is because all you can hear or think about is who others think you should be. Or want you to be. Or expect you to be.
I sit tonight, curled up under a quilt… wanting to share a story. Wanting to share, but not quite sure how.
What I do know… what I do know is that I WANT to open that door. Take out that box and open it up.
What I do know is that I WANT to figure out who I am.
Many things in life can wait,
but opening up that box, sharing those pockets,
and The Sunset Won't.