Nothing, After All

There's something I want. It's making me itchy; my skin doesn't fit. It's making me do stupid things like push. But pushing has always worked for me. I am good at alone. I am good at alone even when I am not alone. I don't want to be someone else problem.

That's not true. Not if I am really honest. I do want to be someone else problem, but I don't want to be seen that way. I want someone that lasts. I want my Superman.

I know why I feel this way. I put something really secret out into the world yesterday. My past. My fiercely guarded past that is filled with insecurity, shame, loneliness, stupidity, flaws. No judgement, but I was on edge. I was looking for those trigger words, those seemingly innocent questions. There were some. Not many, but a few. I'm not naked yet. I don't know if I ever will be, but the want is there. I want to be naked.

What do they say? Trust is a two-way street? Maybe I just made that up. Maybe it wasn't trust...lust? Disgust? Whatever. Trust has been hard. I don't trust myself. I don't trust that there is a Superman. I don't trust that I deserve one.

I feel broken. I feel lost. I am torn between this insane need to please and this feeling that no matter what happens, I will be let down. I have learned to go numb, to shut down all hope, all desire in order to prevent disappointment. Feeling nothing and expecting nothing. It's a half-existence, but it seemed safe. It's not safe; it's predictable. But the prediction is bleak.

And now, when I get closer to hoping, I am terrified. I am scared to be alive. I am scared to be anything but frozen. I can't go through the disappointment again--the blanket, hot and damp on my shoulders. If I was a girl who cried, now would be the time for tears. Furious and frantic into the unknown, the wind whipping me closer to that vortex of chance. I can't even breathe but slip, slip down.

But what's at the bottom? Please...let it be him.