An Explanation.

I should offer one really... Hard to do so without labouring over lame excuses for this dip into self absorption and grim vanity...
I needed somewhere to journal... Stupid as it sounds, I feel that this affords me more privacy than writing in a notebook.

I live in two worlds.
The inside and the outside.

The outside world is well lit. It's cheerful and resilient. It is attractive to those who seek shelter or wisdom and listening and often acts as a refuge for those who have been damaged by the blows life can deal.

The inside world is a world of grey dust and black shadow, where fear bends double and leaves me breathless. It is a world where I sob dry tears and scream silently into wounds that have no name.

I try to stay on the outside but at times it seems impossible and though I battle the suction power that pulls me into the grey, I am often buried alive.

Is this an explanation?
It doesn't sound like one.
I think I am trying to allow some light into the inside. To illuminate, investigate, infiltrate. To understand something or to cleanse something.
For the first time in years, I need to write.