Image by spoon via FlickrMost of the time I manage to hold on to the bubble of pseudo-reality I created for myself: my books, my home, taking care of my baby. I try not to think about dissapointment, shattered dreams, biterness. I know they are there somewhere, on the side, but I try with all it takes to keep them there, block them, isolate them, ignore them. Negative thoughts don't do me good.On the contrary, they make me sick.
Sometimes, when my defences are low (sick baby, ungrateful son, inexistent husband, rude and stupid people) every particle that holds something negative inside itself, comes barging in. Destroying. Digging. Ripping apart. Tearing down.
Sometimes I try to fight back. Sometimes I just give in. And after I manage to gather my strength around me, like a familiar and well-worn coat, I begin my sisyphean task of rebuilding my stronghold, raising my defences. One brick at a time. Agonizingly slowly. Painfully.
Until next time when reality comes barging in, blowing everything to smithereens...