“Prison of Flesh” by Anonymous

Snow Corpses

I suffer from an inability to connect with others. When I have to deal with people, I force myself and tend to drink and/or take drugs to get through it. I don’t understand how I ended up trapped in this dread of future corpses. When I was a child, before my parents split up and traumas trumped traumas, I spontaneously connected with others. I loved everyone with pure joy in my heart. Early on, my heart and spirit were crushed. Faith seemed like clinging to a melting block of ice. Now I go through long spells of isolation where just sending an email is impossible unless I’m drunk. I am sober as I write this. For some reason, Tina, you have not turned against me as most people do. Most people think I’m rejecting them. Or they think that I think I’m better than them, or they see me as an “icy creep.” Truth is, I just don’t know how to feel close to anyone. It scares me when feelings of closeness emerge. Yet, I do love. I love you for not giving up on me. Maybe you understand whatever it is that keeps me trapped. People can be so cruel. People kill each other. People scare the hell out of me. The dilemma is that I’m a people, too. Guess I still haven’t figured out how to deal with social stuff without letting anyone rip me to pieces. As soon as I feel a certain closeness, I offer my heart. That freaks people out as much as my keeping closed off. People seem so impossible. How did I end up being a people, too? The main thing I want to make clear is that I do love lots of people. Although most people probably think I don’t give them a second thought. They’d be surprised how much they matter to me. You are among the very few that I’ve felt safe enough to open up to. Guess it’s cuz we’ve only met in cyberspace. Still, you’re often in my thoughts and always in my heart. I do love you. Always will.

2 thoughts on ““Prison of Flesh” by Anonymous

  1. Tina Hall says:

    Thank you so very much! Is lovely you would share something so…personal. The feeling is mutual I assure you.

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