Talking, even to myself, values my voice and my words. Sharing my words is frightening but for a while there, podcasting was the only way I kept in practice communicating verbally. The trouble is, talking to someone whose responses remind me why I silenced myself tends to broom-handle my bicycle spokes of progress. Kershnoogle my senses and my words, and my courage to communicate. Scrambles my brains, fills it with all the onions that make me sick, and force-feeds it back to me. I wind up feeling small, ashamed, worthless, unlovable, unworthy of life, and that brings out behaviours that reinforce that. I want to be around people who bring out the best in me. Who see the diamond in the rough, the rose among the bullshit, the love amidst the pain, my spark in the dark. And help shelter it from the wild winds of fortune. It doesn’t take much to fan me into a flame, into life, but I need protection from what snuffs it out. Without wasting time on words. See that my brokenness is a result of my environment. Give me time and space and I’m self-mending. Take a leap into faith, as I must simply by trusting you after so much hurt. I am frightened of people so maybe the right people are keeping away? Maybe those drawn to me like my fear, or are oblivious to it? Human nature: ooh, a big red shiny button, let’s press it and see what it does… ohshit.