I don’t categorize myself as a dramatic person.
In fact, I hate drama. To avoid it, I bottle it up and move forward. It has its pros and cons.
Today there are no pros. I decided to share, and unfortunately, that bottle had fermented into a solution that was made up of facts, and hefty parts of doubt and self loathing. Time pickled it; it turned sour, and a little volatile. When I went to share, which I hear is healthy, it came out all wrong. It wasn’t greeted with praise that at last I was being honest about my feelings. Now I feel guilty and bad. My conclusion about the residue in the bottle:
I think I am insecure.
Sometimes I feel like I am so full of it, I need to get it out.
But then I start talking. And I can’t shut up. And I don’t see what I am doing. Until after.
When I shut up I can see. And I regret everything that I said. Because what I say hurts other people too.
So now I try and trap it in a glass bottle.
I just can’t be the glass bottle anymore. I’ll crack and then break and shower those closest to me in my insecure shrapnel. Because if I am still talking, I won’t notice that I have already exploded, and at that point I’ll have picked up the shards, and in my ignorance, I’ll start sawing at our bond with fragmented glass and bloody fingers.
Then I look down at my hands with surprise.
Oops.
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