It's Really Me, Not You

"So, like, why did we stop talking?"

I was recently asked this question by a guy I talked to over the summer. This wasn't the first time I'd been asked this, either. In fact, I even ask myself this question from time to time — usually when my independence starts to feel a lot like loneliness.

Usually, when I'm asked this question, I fabricate some bullshit reason. Yet, this time, I wanted to be at least somewhat honest with him. Try as I might, there had been no solid reason to break things off. (Although, there hadn't been an official end because, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I ghosted him.) We'd had undeniable chemistry, and he was cute as hell. Any girl with a functioning brain would've jumped at the chance to go out with him, but I — unsurprisingly — found myself hesitating.

Not long after he suggested we go out to dinner, I began distancing myself from him. My replies to his texts became shorter and shorter until I didn't even bother texting back anymore. He didn't question my actions. Like the true gentleman he is, he allowed me to push him out of my life even though neither of us had the slightest clue why.

It took me a long time to figure out why. I'm still not sure I know the reason. My mom says it's because I'm too guarded. My therapist says it's because being vulnerable is my greatest fear. It could be either; it could be both. All I know for certain is the immense anxiety I get just at the idea of letting someone in is why I keep the door shut. That time I cried in my car because I just couldn't bring myself to give a guy a chance is why I locked the door and hid the key where even I can't find it.

As annoying as it probably was to the guys I've turned down, it's downright hell for me. More than anything, I crave someone who only desires to make me happy. I ache for the kind of warmth my covers can't provide. I long for the electric feeling that a million songs and books are written about. But I just can't force myself to close the gap that stands between me and what I've only dreamed of.

Because, it's not simply a gap; it's a mile-wide canyon that carves so deep into the earth that only blackness is visible. I've never been a daring person, so I'm certainly not about to blindly take a step only to plunge to my death. It irks me to my very core that what seems to come natural to nearly everyone else on earth is so daunting to me. It kills me when I lay in a cold bed at night, and I know I'm the only one to blame for my lack of warmth. I had the chance to be able to run into a pair of strong arms whenever I desired, but I threw it all away out of fear. It's the worst thing in the world when you have no one to be mad at but yourself.

I can only hope that, one day, I can lower my walls just a little bit so that someone can climb over them. They don't even have to stay for long — just long enough for me to taste what I've been missing. Even a day, perhaps. That day, my always-clenched fists will loosen enough to let someone's fingers loop through mine. That day, the broken pieces I've spent an eternity fumbling with will seamlessly come together.

Until then, my walls will stand tall and proud. My hands will remain in tight fists, and I will continue to try to glue together all the pieces that I carry with me always. Maybe, one day, I'll figure it all out on my own, and then I'll be ready to share the parts of me that the daylight doesn't see. Until then, the reason for any demise will most likely not be him, but me.