Take It or Leave It

Sometimes there just aren't enough words. Not enough adjectives or verbs to sum up an experience or an emotion.

So I'm not going to even try to explain all of the details of my discombobulated life. I'm just going to say a few vague thoughts, work on my latest book for awhile, and then tuck myself into bed.

Let the obscurity commence.

You can have me one of two ways, guys: as I am or not at all. There's no middle ground. I am not the innocent child I once was. I'm not perfect--in fact, I'm probably more screwy than even my enemies are willing to admit. And you could maybe even go so far as to label me insane, I guess. If you really want to cross that line.

I try my best to protect myself, and sometimes--a lot of the time--I fail. I can't be invincible, no matter how much effort I put into it. I can't always win. I won't always beat you. I'm ashamed to confess that yes, you could probably use me to your advantage, and I would probably let you. Even though I'd try to fight you off all the while.

The face I wear is one that shields and conceals. It tucks away my insecurities, the faults I know I've got and really can't change. And this battered wall of insecurity surrounds the most damaged portions of my heart and soul, struggling to prevent further atrophy.

The hardest part of all this is learning to accept that it's not going to get any better. Nothing will get easier. Time does not heal wounds, guys--time is the Elmo band-aid that helps you pretend that there was never a hole to begin with. Tylenol won't do much for me, either.

But maybe someday I'll wake up to find that I can rip off the band-aid in one stroke and stare the wound in the face. Perhaps I'll even go so far as to show off my battle scars, proudly displaying them like marks of victory.

Look, world--see what I've lived through. See what I can survive. You're going to have to do better than that if you want to shatter my defenses. Keep working.

So take it or leave it. Take me or leave me. Once taken, I'm yours. Once left, I wash my hands of you.

Maybe someday you'll stop dirtying my palms, and I'll begin to patch my holes. For good.