sew my lips shut and tie my hands closed

[Guest guest]

I couldn't begin to count how many times I've swore to myself that I would

never open my mouth again, never say another word, never type another word,

remain silent forever. But communication seems almost compulsive with me

and no matter how badly I want to keep my mouth shut, eventually I just end

up opening it again and the whole cycle starts all over.

It's the cycle where I say something -- something innocuous (or so I

thought), something helpful (or so I thought), just something. Not

malicious. Not hateful. Not hurtful. Just reaching out to another human,

trying to be on the same planet with the rest of the world. But then what I

said was wrong or was taken wrong or was said to the wrong person or at the

wrong time. And then everything crumbles apart around me. Again.

And tonight, someone asked for help. No one else answered. So I answered.

They looked like they really needed help badly. So I tried to help. And

they lashed out. And my temper flared. And I felt ashamed that, once again,

my temper controlled me instead of the other way around. So I did

everything I could to stop. And I succeeded. I stopped. But they didn't.

They lashed out some more and when I didn't respond, the insults grew and

grew until they were insulting my personality, my talents, my skills, my

ability to connect with other people. Everything they could think of touching.

And it shouldn't affect me. Cruel people aren't worth being upset over. But

instead of shrugging it off like I ought to, I just keep getting more and

more depressed as the night goes on. It takes so little to push me over the

edge from my normal dysthymia - something I can live with fairly well - to

the beginnings of that downward spiral, throat so tight it aches, eyes

steadily leaking like a worn faucet, and the sinking fear, not knowing if

it will dip down and come back up or keep spinning downwards, depression

growing out of all proportion to the triggering event.

I stopped. I did the right thing. But I still suffer anyway. And I know

that no matter how much I wish I could just stop talking, the cycle will

keep playing out because the urge to communicate is so much stronger than

my will power, so much stronger than my need to avoid the ongoing, always

repeating pain, the agony that has chosen to be my life's companion,

nipping at my heels, following me no matter how far I go, how fast I flee.

Sparrow