Tonight I had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine…a guy I don’t know that well, but has turned out be a pretty good friend. He’s not much into small talk (kind of like my brother) and insists that I tell him what’s what. We haven’t spoken for quite awhile because, as I told him, I always felt like he was analyzing me, but what I’ve come to realize is that he forces me to look at myself and my patterns of behavior and admit the truth.

Yes, I have a pattern. It’s a pattern that has begun later in my life. I have not always been this way. Untrusting, detached and all around fearful. With men. There. I said it. I used to give and receive love like it was going out of style. I could flirt and be playful and could choose the perfect moment to flash my ‘come hither’ eyes. I wasn’t afraid of men, of commitment, of intimacy, of romance, of love.

Now there is something that is holding me back and whether or not it is warranted (not, from what I can tell), I can’t seem to just get over it and move on. So instead I’ve built a wall. A very thick, sturdy, brick, ain’t no wolf gonna blow it down, kind of wall.

But, you know?, I think my heart to heart with my friend just took the first brick down off that wall and lay it aside.

It’s funny. I’ve always been a crier. Tears ran from my eyes in bucketfuls, but I’ve cried about 5 times in the last two and half years. Me, a person who sometimes cried 5 times a month. And you know what? I think I was happier when I could cry. I was able to let out the hurt, or fear, or pain, or disappointment. But now, I’m all dried up and I don’t want to be the kind of person who can’t express what she feels openly and honestly. For some reason I see this wall I’ve built and my inability to shed a tear as related somehow.

And just so you know, I was really afraid to start writing about this.