Monday, April 4, 2011


I have always loved thunder/lightning storms. I love the brilliance of it. There is something so beautiful about the scariness of it all. When I let myself sit by the window and watch the raindrops pound the glass and the flashings of light beyond, I don't feel comfortable and safe. Instead I feel vulnerable. And it's that rush of fear that comes from letting myself be vulnerable that I love and hate. I love it because I do it. I hate it because it I'm afraid of doing it in the first place. Why should nature hold such power over me? But I do it, and that is what counts.

Storms are not the only time I feel like this. I get this feeling every time I just think of opening up to friends and every time one of them says "I love you". When I do hear those three words come from one of their lips, I immediately feel the boulder, the one that makes its home in my stomach, and its weight and size. I am not sure when the boulder moved in, but it takes up almost all of the space that is supposed to belong to "I love you". Because of this, all I can do is choke out, "me too", not even sure if I really mean it. With the boulder being so wide, these utterances of love only live on the outer skirts, and are therefore quickly shoved out in a very bossy manner by the boulder.

I am pretty sure the boulder would shove off itself if I only did open up. I would then stop asking myself why my friends love me, because they would actually know me. It has always been a relief when I do open up. Sometimes they can't handle it and leave, and I am always SO happy when they do because the charade is over and I can stop pretending to be someone they like. So really, what do I have to lose? Nothing. What do I have to gain? A friend who I can hear say "I love you" and believe.

This blog went in an entirely different direction than intended, but was it was apparently necessary for me to sort that all out. :) Dad shared this video with me after reading the last blog I wrote. I find it very inspiring.

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