For Pete

They always say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Why do my feet feel like they are made of lead?

Lead like the way my feet feel when turning to move in a new direction, lead like the way my head feels at the bottom of my stomach.
Turning a fully loaded freight train on a dime would be easier than changing my life at this point. The fear is overwhelming and the other side of that wall I've built is blank, unknown, and terrifying.

Dread is the lead that holds me down. I'd rather not know some days, I'd rather not find out that life could be better than it is at this very moment. If I knew, but still didn't move than I would only be giving myself another reason to hate myself and the life I feel trapped in.

My head is the place that all of this happens, the location I cannot escape as it follows me everywhere. My head is the table around which conversations are had, where irrationality and putrid streams of condescension are flung like confetti. The wall lives there, trapping me in my own quick sand.

I know it can be better, I can see that it should be better. I'm getting glimpses of that life, of that way of living open and free. Windows are being built in my wall so I can see the beauty of a life fully lived. But the windows won't open, and I still feel so trapped here, behind the wall I built to protect that is becoming the source of the pain.

They always say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Why do my feet feel like they are made of lead?