Liar Liar . When Your Own Truth Keeps You Trapped

I lied.

​And that’s the one thing I can’t stand about myself. I didn’t mean to do it, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it at the time, but the fact remains: I'm still pissed at myself for it. So, I need to clear up a few things from my last post.

​I said that “everyone” dips out. That was the lie.

​The truth is, some people have fought like hell, trying to find the right tool to break down the fortress that is my heart—those damn, superhero-strength walls I’ve spent years building. But, at the end of the day? I get it. I’d dip out, too.

​Let's be real about this.

​I’ve been through hell and back so many times, I could probably write a collection of books longer than the entire Mommy Dearest series. They’d need to move James Patterson over to make space for me. These walls I've put up? They're damn near pyramid-level strong. No one even knows where they came from or how solid they are, including me sometimes.

​And the “select few” that I have let in? They’re great. She’s cool—actually, she's more than cool, she’s hot, even, if you catch her at the right angle. But after the 567,908,981st attempt to break through, and getting rejected again... a person starts to think, “Fuck this. I’m out.”

​So, no. Not "everyone" dips out. I’m the one who pushes people away in my own messed-up way. I stay home, buried in my bubble, because to me? This is my safe place. It’s where I can hide, where no one can get too close, and where I can just... breathe.

​And yesterday, it finally hit me: this isolation makes me sad.