My life is nothing but walls and tightropes I can’t cross



A visual example of the tight rope I feel like I am walking

I am always talking about a fine line. There is a fine line between this and that. I am walking on a fine line. And, when I use the phrase, I always picture a metaphorical tightrope of sorts. 

I see myself tiptoeing across it, barely staying up right, wobbling towards some unknown on the other side. 

However, not everything is a fine line. Not everything is so close together; you don’t always have to see both perspectives; you don’t always have to risk falling a thousand feet just to make a decision; some things are bigger than a fine line. 

Some things are more of a wall, and while I used to think there was simply a string of yarn between the person I am and the person I want to be, I have recently come to the conclusion that the strand of yarn is more like a cement wall. 

Impossible to break through, too tall to climb over, and stationary with its stance. 

And this stubborn wall is holding me back. I can feel myself standing on the other side. I can feel how happy she is and how much knowledge she has to offer, and yet I remain on the other side. 

Every once in a while, I get the urge to try and break the wall down. I punch. I kick. I scream. And still, nothing happens. Long gone are the days when fine lines between right and wrong were being drawn. 

In a lot of ways, being still is a good thing, and while I am no longer risking death by my decisions, it would seem I have lost the option entirely. 

She is simply me when I am happy, and I am simply her when she feels every other emotion.

I just want to be on the other side of the wall: no ultimatums, no decisions, just me and the open space. 

But the open space, despite being on the other side of a simple wall, is still so far away. And as much as I want to be the girl on the other side of that wall, she is very much hypothetical. Just like the hypothetical tightrope and the hypothetical wall. 

None of it is real. 

She is simply me when I am happy, and I am simply her when she feels every other emotion. And all the walls and all the lines are just my brain trying to match tangible objects to much bigger concepts. 

And I can punch, scream, and cry my very hardest to break through the walls or tiptoe across the very thin lines, but at the end of the day, it’s all just the same girl fighting her own brain.