Wall … ouch. Wall … ouch. Wall … ouch. Wall … ouch.
Just call me Lumpy and hand me a helmet, please.
My house may be made of wood, but brick walls are everywhere, and I’m bloody tired of banging my head against them.
Spin, spin, spin, stop, step forward and, smack! … the wall of sadness. It gets no thinner, no shorter, and I’ve yet to find a door through. I’m learning every chink and seek out some when I need to feel specific pain in a hurts-so-good sort of way when I worry about scabbing over.
Spin again, step, bang, and it’s fear I run into.The how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-make-it and where-the-hell-am-I-going wall that sends me stumbling down dark corridors searching for the tiniest flicker of light somewhere, anywhere.
Spin, lurch, and smack into loneliness, missing people, yearning, regret.
Turn away from that one and slam straight into frustration, had-enough-of-this-shit, doing-the-best-I-can-why-isn’t-it-enough exhaustion that makes me want to lie down on the cold, hard floor and curl up into a ball.
Some days are better than others. This is not one of those days.