It's afraid of 7.

I seem to have a block between my brain and my mouth most of the time. Or maybe it isn’t even most of the time, maybe it’s just the more important times that this block erects itself. I don’t really understand it; its reason for being there or what it accomplishes. From what I’ve seen, it’s only been successful at alienating people and making them feel that they are “less than” in my heart. I don’t like it.

And it’s the most important people in my life that suffer with the shortest sticks; face the biggest blocks.

Where’s the sense in that, I wonder. I push away those I want closest. Isn’t that one of the biggest clichés around?

I’m not entirely sure what sets off the domino effect of blocks that go up. I know when I’m feeling something especially intense or especially tender I feel the blocks go up. But sometimes the erecting of blocks is set off by something far less meaningful; things that neither matter nor make a difference in anything, but are just nice to say. Sometimes I wonder if I just don’t think my personal thoughts, feelings, emotions, words are good enough. I don’t know. Other times I wonder if it’s just that I don’t feel the sense of security and trust with others that seems like in most people, is just there. Any avenue I wander in trying to find the reason for my block, it comes down to one thing: there’s something wrong with ME.

Which isn’t a fantastic spot to find yourself. It’s sort of like when you’re on your way to a place you’ve been before, but somehow you get your directions mixed up and you end up in this uncomfortable part of town; that part of town that instantly gives you hawk-like vision, makes you instinctively lock your doors and creates a moving lump of sick in your stomach. It’s quite pleasant.

Sometimes I think I just need someone to want to break down my blocks as much as I do. Someone with just as much desire to break them down as I do, so that we could do it together; proof that they love me, and want me, and will fight for me. Is that asking too much? Or more importantly, is that even what I want? Or is it just some song and dance number of mine to continually push people away, because that’s easier than letting people in?

I still don’t like it.

There have been times when someone would say to me, “You’re thinking something. Say it.” And I remember the sort of rosy, warmth it gave me. It would rise from my stomach, and warm me from within and I would feel loved. Yet even in those moments I would back pedal, and fight it. I’d say, “I’m not thinking anything…” even though I was thinking something incredible; something oozing with raw me. I would deny the other persons’ fight for me; I’d take a knee, bow my head and lift my shield in submission, and then quickly disappear before the other could even begin congratulating himself.

And I know I’m doing it. As soon as I feel the weight of the very first block in the infinitely high wall go up, a dialogue between my many selves starts up. One side starts verbally attacking the other while the other side simply whispers the right words to say. And it’s at this point that the white flag goes up; I surrender all thinking, silence the voices, and give up. It becomes another internal battle that I lose.

And while it starts out as an internal battle, it ends with an external loss; one that I can feel, hear and see. I erected one more block to keep that person away. I pushed them one step further back. And I feel it, hear it, see it, and it kills me. Why, when all I want is to hold that person in my arms and wrap them in myself, do I push so much harder to keep them farther away?

Why am I so afraid to have someone love me?