Everyone wants to be my friend. They want to bask in my sunshine. They want to be touched with my enthusiasm and joy. My love.
But when things go awry, and they do I just do not share, and the darkness begins to tap its bony fingers on the door to my soul, people are reluctant to hear. To share. To understand.
And I get it.
I am the cheer maker. I am the one with broad shoulders that all can lay their problems on. They are very very broad and I carry the fears and worries of others with ease. It is how I was made.
I am not always good. I am not always the bright light that shines in everyone’s corners.
Sometimes I am the darkness that consumes my soul. The anguish and fear I can no longer stuff back into the corner. It oozes out and I am face to face with the crazy, the insanity that I keep bound in an iron trunk at the bottom of the sea.
The sea of my emotions. My pain. My fears.
They are vast. They encompass parts of me that languish, starved because only I can see them.
And who really wants to see that ugliness anyways?
Reeling a line, gathering goop and ill wills. Twisting and turning, stuffing it all back in the box from whence it came.
I am not always strong.
I am not always ok.
But no one wants to know, so I shall always remain good.