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If there’s any hope for love at all, some walls must fall

Some walls are made of stone,
Sometimes we build our own
Some walls will stand for years,
Some wash away with tears
Some walls, some walls

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a ball of nerves and anxiety. Most people know I have a fairly traumatic past, albeit  bits and pieces of the details. And many have asked how the heck I survived  it. They’ve asked how I’ve gotten through. I’ve always just kind of shrugged – I kind of survived to prove the whole world wrong that I couldn’t (want me to do something? Tell me I can’t or tell me it’s impossible. I WILL prove you wrong.)

I survived by building walls. It wasn’t safe to cope with things as a child, it wasn’t safe to let anyone know how broken and upset I was. So I built walls. For years, those walls have kept me safe. It’s how I survived a painful childhood, it’s how I coasted through college. I wasn’t in a safe place to cope, I wasn’t in a safe place to deal with with everything being thrown at me.

Some walls are lined with gold
Where some hearts stay safe and cold
Some walls are made of doubt
Holding in and keeping out

And so, I built careful walls to keep myself safe and to, quite literally, survive. I didn’t know who was safe and who wasn’t. I’d been backstabbed so many times that the thought of letting anyone see past the walls was terrifying. I’d break down the walls, little by little, and then realize it wasn’t safe and go back into hiding behind the walls.

After so many years of hiding behind careful walls, it has a tendency to blow up spectacularly  in your face. You see, those walls have been up to keep my heart safe. To make sure that no one can hurt me. But here’s the thing.

How will you ever know what might be found
Until you let the walls come tumbling down
If there’s any hope for love at all,
Some walls, some walls must fall

It took years for me to build the walls, years of closing people out and pushing the world away. I don’t know how to let the walls fall. Everything has been cooped up, pushed in, so tightly protected for so long that while the walls need to come tumbling down, I am absolutely terrified of what will happen if I start breaking down the walls. It feels like a dangerous game of Jenga – that if just one brick is removed, things may stay stable but if too many bricks are removed, everything comes crashing down out of control and I won’t be able to stop.

But yet…if I want love to win, if I want to ENJOY my life, if I want to THRIVE, the walls have to come down and I need to deal with the reasons I built them in the first place. If I want to live without fears, pain, and anxiety consuming me…the walls need to come down. I just have so many fears of what will happen if I let the walls come down. But what is scarier? Living with the walls I know and the familiarity of depression and anxiety  or finally seeing what is beyond that? Which one is more worthwhile? I just don’t know how to bring the walls down, but I think I’m finally ready to learn.

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the very same fear that makes you want to die, is the same fear that keeps you alive

From the very same fear that makes you want to die,
Is the same fear that keeps you alive

It’s kind of weird. I don’t know what it’s like to not be depressed, to not be anxious. Because I was so young when my trauma started, I don’t know what it’s like NOT to have depression, anxiety, what my life was life Before Trauma. It’s weird, in a way – because this is what I know, the thought of getting better? The thought of not being consumed by things? It’s absolutely terrifying.

I’m not currently suicidal, though I have been in the past. But it’s odd. I was terrified to stay alive. I was terrified that things wouldn’t get better. I was scared to death that things would never change, that I would never see a difference. But at the same time, that very same fear is what kept me going.

Fear often fuels me.  In both good ways, and bad ways. At one point, fear is what drove me to the brink of despair, it’s what drove me to self injury. It’s what kept me from moving on with my life. But yet? At the same time, fear is what inspires me to keep going. It’s what keeps my fire burning because I want to see what happens next.

So often I’ve been told that fear is a bad thing. But I don’t know that it always is. I don’t know that fear is always a horrible thing. Fear is often what kept me safe as a child. Fear is often what made me determined to prove the world wrong. It’s ultimately a matter of what we DO with our fear that matters, not fear itself.

Lyrics from War on Drugs by the Barenaked Ladies