Another Layer of Paint

I don't know why I do it.  Every once in a while I take a risk, and force myself out of my comfort zone.  Then I lose control of my feelings and thoughts, and wish I had never done it.  All of the work I've done to keep myself in my tidy little box, behind a mountain of bricks, is undone in an instant.

My heart begins to feel things that I know can never be, and my imagination gets the best of me.  It's just like when I was a little girl, imagining the life I wish I had.  Conjuring up a reality that would never exist.

I begin to allow myself to think I'm more interesting, or more special, or more anything than I really am.  I stupidly think that I may matter somewhere outside of these four walls.

Then, very quickly, I realize what I've done, and I remember how invisible I actually am. Out of sight, out of mind.  I remember that I only exist in the periphery.  Always an outsider looking in.

The work to pull myself back inside of the fortress I've built starts over.  I have to fit my mask back into place.  I need to return to the safety, and comfort, and numbness provided by these barriers.  

I swear a thousand times that I will never remove my mask again, or leave the safety of the walls that surround me.  And stupidly I believe myself.  I believe that I can be stronger next time, and resist the urge to take the risk, no matter how sweet the reward may seem.

The reward is never there.  It's a mirage.  I know this, but sometimes my heart overpowers my head, and the vicious cycle repeats again.  Each time, I add another brick to my fortress, and to my mask, another layer of paint, more brilliant than the last, hoping it will be enough to protect me from myself next time.