When you’re unwell, do you allow others to take care of you, or do you prefer to soldier on alone? What does it take for you to ask for help?
I prefer to take care of myself. I will never dare to saddle anyone with my own problems.
This principle sprang out from necessity and originated in my childhood where none of us siblings were allowed to voice out or cause any problems. They caused and still are causing problems. They grew up to be dependent and bothersome individuals and I have chosen the opposite track; relying on and trusting no one but myself.
I learned at an early age that it’s better not to ask anyone for help. Help is never for free. There is always something attached to it and you always have to return the favor. I never want to be indebted to anyone financially, morally, socially or emotionally. The latter is much harder to pay. It can hold you on a leash indefinitely. Asking anyone for help is giving them the right/reasons/chances to criticize your actions and way of life and handing them ammunition for future battles. Better to tackle your problems alone so whatever might happen, there is no one to blame but you. That way, you can never be disappointed or disillusioned if others don’t provide the best kind of help__ no strings attached.
I want to be always free, and freedom is not being beholden to anyone for anything, point.
I long for a career walking through empty houses vacated of all furniture and personality, walls once full of love and memories now bare with chipping paint and talk of being alone forever. Do you think if houses could talk they would tell you of all the people who walked through their lonesome hallways with no intent to return?
Do you think if walls could talk they would tell you of all the crayons that have been pressed against their plaster skin creating masterpieces that can’t be painted over? What about the day your dad got so drunk he punched right through the memories and your brother years later with chalky knuckles following in his footsteps? Would the windows board themselves up after you left?
Do you think the air vents still carry the sound of your mom telling your dad she doesn’t love him anymore? Do you think that house is waiting for someone to come along and fix it up again?
I spend my Saturday mornings furniture shopping for things that aren’t there and won’t ever be there. Do you think houses are like people or people are like houses because I can walk up cracked concrete steps everyday and I can run my hand down the oak door wondering how many people have stood in my spot before and if their legs ever buckled ?
I can grab that cold metal knob but I can’t ever turn it because I’m not ready to confront the crumbling walls of a house that was once a home.
– Kelsie Byers
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