I have tried to control every single thing that happens in my life.
I have tried to control each and every step I take. The way I look at things. The way things look back at me, even.
Laughing at things is a way of maintaining control. I have become an expert in laughing my worries off, laughing my problems off, laughing my tears off. And it has become so effective that I have filled my life with joy and laughter and other people’s as well. But then I do not show. I do not shine through.
Sometimes I’m dark inside and no one notices. Sometimes it is wet inside, tears sipping through and flooding everything and no one knows. Sometimes I don’t want to know. And I laugh, to keep it all inside.
And yet sometimes I’m not that strong, I’m not that bright. And then I sink, and then it seems I mess everybody’s lives up. I have been given a role and that’s where I should stay. If I lose control everyone else seems to lose it. And then they blame me for it. About this, I don’t care anymore.
But still I’m afraid. I am afraid to let myself go. I fear opening myself up, opening my heart up and letting go of what is inside. When I’m afraid I am suddenly speechless, I am mute. I don’t say anything, I just look, with all the intensity I can, and I try not to run. I am sure I have hurt people with my words, and I have hurt them with my silence.
The things I haven’t said hurt ME the most. They are lurking in the shadows, they don’t stop haunting me. I repeat them again and again in my mind. In the end it is a case, I suppose, of “I didn’t lose control and I lost it all”.
The Starcatcher 