Writer’s Block/Not Dealing

Not dealing with the truth will have you stuck sometimes, in your writing, personal life, or any craft really. The shells we put ourselves in have their purpose, they protect us but sometimes I use my shell to protect myself from what I really need. The truth only to be found in the recesses of my mind as I slip back into old habits trying to feed this hunger that continues to go unsatisfied. It’s a hunger for not love, or lust, but a safe space within a person. Scared ground in which to be the softer side of me, the doubtful, and the silly. 

I have been dreading to admit that she hurt me, that I was wrong, tricked again by this game called love. I have come to admit loving me isn’t easy however for a time she made it seem like it was normal, and not the impossible feet that love has made it seem to be. 

She took her love away despite the amount of compromising I did but if you ask her I am selfish. It’s so interesting to look at the sides of a story that your in, to recognize all sides and still feel the damage is only something my wondering mind seems to have perfected. 

Because this one, was a snapping turtle. She let me into her cave. The place where she hides the softer version of herself and there we watched movies and played chess. However, she felt I had wronged her by being myself and making a decision that I thought was best. 

My tactics for surviving aren’t to her liking I assume. However, I had to detox from her love and was dropped into a reality that wasn’t as bright. I know that it is going to get better, I still have my cave but for a while it was nice to share spaces between space and time with a person. 

I had to get that off my chest, block removed.