Ball of Yarn. Locked box.

Life isn't easy. I know that. But, when...when will things finally come together? By come together, I mean, when will we figure things out? I'm not asking for any huge revelations or answer to unknown questions...just...
I don't know if I should finish the question or not because once I put things down in words it seems to come back to bite me sometime in life. That is why it is safer, easier, less threatening just to keep all my thoughts hidden deep within my head, not to talk to anyone, just ask them how they are doing and not say anything that could be considered down-hearted to anyone. Nobody likes a downer and that is why I am always happy, always smiling, always keeping my head up, being patient, loving, kind, trying to do my best with everything I do, so that I can keep things held together. There is so much inside me, so many things trapped that want to explode out. But I keep them tightly locked deep within my mind and heart. They have to stay there. I'm afraid what they might do to me and others if I let them out. So I guess I live in fear of being my true self. Who I really am. Or what I really feel. Because I am afraid. So afraid. I don't know how to explain myself even if I wanted to tell someone how I feel because it has been so long since someone actually asked me how I was doing and really meant it.
People go around asking each other how they are doing, but they really don't want to know. That is why I put on my best smile. Tell everyone I am doing great, excellent, the best ever, when really my world is a mess of words, feelings, and confusion.
It is easier this way, locking myself and my feelings away from the world. It is easier not to have friends. Not to answer the phone call of someone I know. Let them leave a message and call them back later when I have my feelings tucked away in a neat box in the back corner of my brain. Then I will have time and energy for them and their problems. Not mine though. Nobody has time for mine. Not even me.
Sometimes I dread that phone call. The one where I know someone is calling to unload all their troubles and problems through words. So many words. Words going into my brain. Wreaking havoc on it. Wishing I could unload mine too, but knowing they have so many problems of their own that they could never unravel mine. Heck, I can't even begin to sort through my own. They are like a ball of yarn, wrapped so well that nobody can find the loose ends. I have to keep it all together, hidden. Away from knowing eyes and ears.
I am perfect. I do my hair perfect. I dress perfect. I drive perfect. I raise my child perfect. I am a perfectionist. My house is perfect. My life is perfect. Nothing is wrong with me. I am the best person in the world. I am the best spouse. I am the best mom. I have everything together. If only everyone could be like me. True or false? Sometimes I don't even know. I just keep thinking that if I just keep thinking things like this, I will eventually become them. Even if I am broken now, I can be whole, if I just think it into reality.
I have the perfect smile. The one that makes my eyes sparkle and makes people believe everything I say. When I say I am doing good. I am.
I have the perfect voice inflection. When I say they can make it through their trial, they believe it.
I have the perfect attention span. I never cut anyone off. They can unload everything. All they want, right into my lap. A bucket full of word vomit. Don't worry. I can handle it. No matter how heavy it is, I can carry it. When they look away or hang up, I toss it over my shoulder. I can't remember a single thing they said. Because it doesn't really matter anyway. They don't want someone to solve their problems. Not really. It is always the same problem. Different circumstances. Same problem. Over and Over. So my opinion doesn't really matter. All they need is someone to listen. To vent to. Once they are done, they will move onto the next person. And the story repeats itself. I pitty the poor soul who has to listen like I do.
Are they the brave ones? The ones that actually unload their problems? Are they the ones that have all the guts? Should it make me feel better that others have problems too? Bigger than mine sometimes? Should I be glad to hear about their problems? That they're in pain too? That they have inner turmoil?
Don't get me wrong, I like listening. But I like to have conversations too. Those are nice. Too bad nobody cares what I think, do, or feel. They just care about themselves and their problems. Because their problems are infinitely bigger than everyone else's. Really? Yes. Really. My problems are nothing compared to theirs. And I am strong. I can handle it. Remember? Big bucket of vomit.
Sometimes I wonder what it's like to have a friend. A true friend. I can't remember. Have I had one? Maybe once. Twice. But not anymore. Is that my fault? For not letting anyone in. How do I let people in? They don't want to hear about my perfect life. They want me to have problems like theirs. Or bigger problems. Guess what...I DO! I just don't let them out of my mouth. They are hidden. Tucked away safely. Ball of yarn in box at back of my mind and heart. Is that my problem? I don't want others to think I have problems or take on my problems and so I don't share them. I want them to think I am OKAY. I live life effortlessly. I can handle ANYTHING. And I CAN! I DO! Is that a lie if I have such inner turmoil?
When will I find peace? Have peace? When I die? Is there peace even in death? When do you stop caring? I don't think it ever ends. Even in death. People are still living that you love, want to help. So, death is not peaceful. Not really.
Some say, to hand your troubles over to God. He will take care of them. That is hard to do. I have a hard time handing my problems over to anyone because I feel like I should be strong enough to handle them, figure them out, work through them, conquer them. Am I lying to myself? Am I not strong enough if I feel like this? Lost? Alone? Frustrated? Friendless? Incapable of being what I need to be to help the people I need to help? Because I am boring. I am not a page turner. My story is perfect. Because I am perfect. On the outside. On the inside, I am a mess. Worse than a mess. A disaster. And nobody knows because I have the perfect facade. The perfect smile. The perfect words.
Someday, somewhere, somehow, I hope to find the answers. The friends. The keys that will unlock the door to the answers.Sometimes all it takes is a friend. But that means I have to let someone in. And that scares me. Scares me so much that I don't know if I can open myself up to that.
So many layers. Like a unpeeled onion. I've never been peeled. I don't know if I ever will be. Is anyone brave enough to reach out? Should they be? It will take time. Effort. It will be hard. Because there is a lot there. Maybe someday. Sometime. Now? Only time will tell.
In the end. I have to keep my box closed. Sealed shut. Because if I don't, things will fall apart. I have to keep them together. I have to keep all the balls in the air, coming down in the perfect rhythm to make life into a daily symphony. If I don't, who will?
The answer is nobody. So I sit. I stand. I walk. I run. I bend. I move in all directions. Touching. Moving. Carrying. Talking. Pulling. Pushing. Continuing the best that I can. Because if I don't, nobody will. And that is when life ends. So I will keep on living. Keep moving. Working. Doing my best to solve my own problems the best I know how because that's what life is all about. Learning. Growing. Stretching. Being uncomfortable. Uprooting. Shaking up.
I'm in a snow globe. My life is a snow globe. God shakes it. I move. I learn. I grow. Sometimes I hate it. But I do it, knowing it is for my best in the end.
There's my vomit for the day. The End.