Sunday, May 17, 2009

Voices and Bridges

I sit here quietly during the night while everything around me sleeps, and I listen to the voices of the past. They all tell me it's going to be okay. Aunt Mickey pops into my head every now and then. I miss her a lot. We're a lot alike. I know she's proud of me, she and my Mom. I miss them so much.

There's another kind of voice I hear at night too ... the voice of my own fears and insecurities. This is when they wake up, just when I'm trying to sleep. During the day, I'm dealing with the chaos of moving and packing and working and studying. It's in the quiet of the night, when my imagination runs rampant with all the things that could go wrong ...

I'm so frightened. This house has always been my shell. It's always been the place I could come to when things fell apart. I have another place, a safe place, but I can usually only get there in my dreams. Even though my parents are gone, having this house, their house, provides me with a sense of safety and security from the world. Now it's being taken from me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive that. I don't hate ... that's not where I want to put my energy, but whatever was there before is gone. Too many bridges have burned. Too many.

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