Of all the things I’m least pleased of myself with, I don’t like how I’m so very anti-vulnerability. I will fight tooth and nail before you see me crumble in any real non-verbal way (anyone can talk about how sad they are).

I’m stubborn with this wall I have, everytime someone tries to look through the cracks I’ll cover it with my palms. Tickle it pinch it and poke it, when I finally let go it will be ugly. I can count the number of people who’ve seen the cracks on one hand, I feel sorry for them everytime I think of it, even though I know they’ll say that that’s what friends are for.

The thing about being strong, about walls and maybe even facades, is that they don’t hold up all the time. And my anti-vulnerability binge is exactly that, a binge. Bullimic in nature, it’ll bubble over, and like a girl holding in hunger for so long, she’ll creep downstairs in the middle of the night, open the fridge, the oven, the stove, the microwave, the pantry. She’ll rip brightly packaged snacks, tear through reheated food with trembling fingers, she’ll transfer all the desire from that room into her, feeding herself as if every flavour were a feeling, every bite a delayed action on her part, and every gulp was a word she couldn’t say. The control she held so tightly over herself burst like an airtight candy packet and all the pieces scattered the floor.

That moment of stillness will be much louder than the noise her greed made. She’ll stare at the mess. Try not to trip over it as she walks back upstairs.

Hunger was perfect and now she’s ruined it. All her patience. She had a good thing going but the failure, her lack of restraint was so apparent it made every step upstairs that much heavier, her belly full, her lips stained & smeared, her fingertips sticky. She was carrying her faux pas like a burden, and she felt every, humiliating, ounce.

A few nights ago, I became that girl. Obviously I didn’t have hunger issues. But I too had a ‘good’ thing going within myself and I haphazardly lost it, I went against my stubborn disposition and my anti-vulnerability mandate, maybe because like her at that time of the night or early early morning, I didn’t have enough of what it took to cover the cracks and it just kept on spreading. I was too exhausted to hold back, so my body went on autopilot rebellion, leading me somewhere I shouldn’t have been and asking for what I would have never asked for (and shouldn’t, come to think of it), given a little more consciousness and pride control.

Vulnerable was exactly what I was. I reeked of it, I thought of no one but myself and I let my guard down so disgustingly far that the embarrassment coloured me all the way down to my proud little toes.

Did everything taste good? the girl asks herself. Was it worth it? Does it matter? Even though she’s resolved to be stronger, harder than ever, everything she touched has digested deep in anyway, and she cannot get it out, or for the life of her take back those brief minutes of stupidity.