Having divorced parents meant there was a lack of a male figure in my house. I saw my dad yes, but it’s never quite the same as having your dad there 24/7. So my mum did the best she could with an unsupportive partner and my dad not living near by.
For this reason I grew up with the mentality of not waiting for a man to do it. That I shouldn’t rely on people and be a damsel in distress because no one was coming to save you, you have to save yourself.
The more I grew up, I didn’t want to be the pretty pink princess who sat in her castle, no, I wanted to be the princess with her hair in a braid, leather armor (I know, not very good in a fight but I was like 10) and a sword, not to mention magical powers, but mainly I wanted a sword.
I wanted to be a warrior.
When I would lose myself in books, I didn’t want to be the main character, no, I wanted to be the kick ass mentor who was fully trained in every form of fighting possible. I didn’t want to be the center of attention, I wanted to be the warrior. I didn’t care if it was the main character who got all the attention and praise, I just wanted to fight for a good cause.
Sadly, I can’t walk around in leather armor with a sword without getting arrested for carrying a weapon and getting funny looks (unless I convince my boyfriend to cosplay something that looks something along those line with me 😀 then I can for a day *cough cough hint hint* Ginger, I know you read my blog).
But in reality, I didn’t become the warrior I wanted to be. In sted I retreated into the castle walls. I just wasn’t strong enough to fight the world, to march with the good cause. I wasn’t the strong and powerful person I wanted to be. Anxiety hit me, bully’s hurt me, anorexia got me and best intentions just did more damage,
Overtime I built my walls even higher, pushed people away, refused help and closed myself off. Not all of this was choice might I add, at home we were in a very controlling situation that meant that as a family we were pulled back into isolation. But that doesn’t mean that some of it wasn’t my doing.
Very few people can get close to me.
But I still want to fight, to be a warrior. So what do I do when I can’t leave the fortress that protects me?
I climb to the top of my walls, look down, pick up my bow and shoot.
It was illegal for me to have a sword in the UK, but I had a licence that allowed my bow and I lovingly named him Easton.
But that’s what I do today.
I’m fighting, I’m on the top of my walls, braced against the wind but I’m still fighting. I don’t have my sword, I’m not in the heart of the battle but I can still pick of stragglers with my bow.
Here’s the catch though, the higher my walls are, the further I can fall.
One wrong foot and I can go tumbling.
In the real world this what you’d probably recognise as a relapse and I’ve almost have several major ones in the past few days where I’ve been moments away from giving in to temptation and just falling.
These past few days I’ve been doing a lot of reflection.
How closed off I’ve become to the people surrounding me has been playing on my mind an awful lot. Mainly because I’ve been feeling lonely. Again.
A couple of days ago, I ran into an old friend from primary school at the bus stop. I was in a world of my own again so didn’t notice her, but she remembered me and sparked a conversation. It was lovely seeing her again, she really has a kind heart just like I rembered.
We sat together on the bus, she literally lives round the corner from me, and just caught up. She’d had a bit of a bumpy time with her friends and was just chatting about that, I know what it’s like to need a vent and that’s chill. Eventually though she asked about me, what I’ve been up to, how I’ve been.
I clammed up, closed up.
I’ve had a lot happen to me in the years that we’ve not seen each other, both good and bad. So it’s not like I didn’t have anything to talk about, in fact I had loads to chat about, yet I didn’t.
I didn’t want to say a word.
Looking back, my silence spoke louder than any words I could have said.
That silence spoke of my pain, my distrust, of my fears. I fully appreciate that I will never be sociable, this doesn’t stop from me from feeling lonely though and yet I am comfortable in my own company.
I want to be alone but I don’t want to be lonely.
If I’m honest, I feel like I’m living in a paradox. Craving company yet pushing it away without a thought. Wanting to be open but adding new bricks to my wall everyday. Something tells me that I’m not the only one who feels this way though. You want people but you’re not quite ready for the real thing just yet.
Everyone of us has a story, all will come with valid reasons as to why we are the way we are today, an origin story all of our own. It’s a story we’re adding to-day by day and when we feel ready we want to start a new chapter in our life. But sometimes we don’t need write a new chapter in our lives, sometimes we need to start a whole new book.
Trust me, I know it’s hard. I’ve always dreamt of becoming an author and publishing my own book. I’m not quite sure how being an author fits in with being a sword wielding warrior but I know the struggles of writing a new book both literally in words and mentally in my life.
But maybe it’s time for a whole new book,