Riding in a 3 grand motor car
Home, such a small word with numerous meanings. Home is more than an abode, a place of refuge or somewhere we feel safe. Home is all 3 at the same time. Somewhere we can go at the end of the day, lock ourselves in and relax. More and more I find myself making excuses to remain locked within my castle. Why? If anyone has the answer to why they could write their own pay check. I don’t go out because I can always find a reason not to. My scars cut deep and hard, so I stay in to keep myself safe and not gain any new scars. My chains cut me so much that I have to keep myself inside or other people will hear them rattle. My boundary is well defined and well travelled. I find myself downstairs at the front door several times a day without understanding how I came to be there. So I check the door is still locked before going back upstairs again. If I have to put rubbish in the bin I check that nobody is around to hit me, harm me or punish me in some way.
According to the British way of thinking, this behaviour is seen as eccentric but is accepted. To me, this way of behaving is irrational, but I don’t know how to change. If it is irrational then why can’t I change it, surely that must be the sign of a twisted mentality? I have never felt this bad for this long ever before. Madness takes its toll of even the strongest willed among us. I’m no saint, just another sinner trying to regain my strength of will.
Yes, I always had a smile on my face, but that was to hide my pain from the rest of the world. I had got so used to building a wall that I do find it hard to make friends easily. Even at work I will only share so much with colleagues, things that don’t cause me pain. Since the breakdown of my latest marriage I spend more and more time on my own. It’s quite surprising how easy it is to put friends off calling, after a while they stop asking if they can call round, then a little while later they stop calling.
I have no-one to talk to but find the ghosts willing conversationalists, maybe I should think about signing myself in to the nearest cuckoos nest, but if I do that how can I keep myself and my belongings safe?
I don’t have very much and every week I find more things I can’t remember why they had importance or why I didn’t throw them away the last time I moved.