The Match & The Bomb
I've always been emotional.
Empathic, compassionate, driven.
As a child, I felt so deeply.
I'd even have tantrums.
You could say I was a brat too.
My emotions are and always have been front and center.
I can't hide them.
Can't hold them inside and lock them up.
I hide them and become fragile.
Not fragile like a flower, but a bomb.
The key would fly out the door handle.
Then the door bursts open the flood gate.
Catastrophe ensues.
Overthinking, overwhelming, overtly catastrophizing.
Every minute detail of the rush of emotions that wash over me like a tidal wave.
Talking to people can often help, but not always.
Many times I'm embarrassed to show these darts that fly at my wall of emotions.
Hitting the different notches to trigger so many.
It's never more than one, you never throw just one dart.
Those darts thrown by the ones causing the emotions can often hit a bullseye, 3 in a row.
Escalating that single emotion and striking it like a match that won't fire because you've tried too many times.
You've tried to be kind. Civil. Helpful. To no avail.
So then the match will no longer light the pathway through out of the darkness.
You leave her there. Like a bomb.
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