inside my room

I wish I could remember when, but at some point in my life I decided I was too sensitive. A raw bundle of nerves, feeling every prick and thump and caress too vividly. I couldn't take it.

I hurt much too deeply and too long; I loved so deeply I drowned. I huddled around my emotions for a while, trying to shore myself up for a long life filled with higher ups and downs than other people experience or could even imagine. I tried to explain to myself, convince myself, that this won't kill me, that it's a wonderful thing that I feel so much, and that I just need to protect my innermost self a little better. So up went the walls.

I wonder what it's like to live inside other peoples' heads. I wonder what someone would do if they were trapped in mine for a while. I imagine a rational brain, like my husband's, as a tidy little library with memories and thoughts and feelings and information all tucked away neatly into their places, clean of dust and spiderwebs, ready to be pulled out when needed. Or a creative brain like my boss's, an imaginative fairy-tale world where he encounters no boundaries on what he wants to think or do, booming with confidence and bravery.

Then there's me. I imagine my brain would look a lot like my teenage bedroom-- clothes, shoes, books, pictures, toys, pillows, all strewn carelessly around, a riot of colors and shapes and movement, with some darkness and dirt hidden under the beautiful mess.

I cried last night while laying in bed alone in the dark. I don't know why. If you had asked then I wouldn't have been able to tell you. I must have stumbled on a stack of books and uncovered something deep and dark without knowing it. I hadn't cried in a while. I miss my grandfather; time passes too quickly; I'm afraid of losing Bub soon; work is stressful.

It's a condition of being me, being confined behind these walls, that I bundle things like this up and let them out at once. But if I were to tear down a wall and let the sunlight into my chaotic little world, who I am and the depth of my ever-changing emotions would spill out onto whomever is nearest. It wouldn't be pretty. I don't think I even want to open a door-- someone may come in and mess up my mess. I think I'll design a pretty Keep Out sign. I like living in my crazy little room. It's comfortable and cozy, and I wouldn't really be me without it.

So what does your brain look like?