Burrow.

So I burrowed.
And I cried.
And I wondered if I was an inherently damaged person.

Why do I do better alone?
What is my problem?

My friends called/commented/texted/emailed.

Some offered their couches.
Some threatened me that I couldn't get rid of them no matter how reclusive I became.
Some told me that it was fine if I needed alone time.
Some asked to know what it was that they said that hurt me.

So I poked my head out and forced myself to live.
I called back.
I returned texts.
I responded to emails.

Am I OK now?
Not really.

But will burrowing help?
No.

I'm still hurt.
I'm still confused by why I react the way I do to things.
I would still prefer to hide on my couch ignoring all forms of communication.

I haven't attempted to twitter again.
This blog post kinda sucks.

But as much as I might like to avoid people - I think that's the sort of behaviour that turns you into the crazy lady that wanders the street in a bathrobe followed by stray cats. The lady with the house that the children avoid on Halloween because somehow the rumour got started that if you get too close, you might get snatched up inside, never to be heard from again.

I think I have the potential to become that lady. Not actually kidnapping children of course- cause once I had them, what would I do with them? But the bathrobe in the street lady? Yeah.

So I un-burrowed. Because my people? They give me humanity. They force me to laugh and look at myself in different ways - both bad AND good.