Hello. My name is Tez and I am a self-inflictor. I am not talking about hurting myself by cutting or some other physical abuse. No, my scars are internal, invisible to the naked eye. Each day I engage in a spiritual battle with myself, laying blows on my soul that are as powerful as any punches Mike Tyson ever landed. The surgeries for my knee were probably less painful than the words I speak to myself each day.
It’s not that I try to have these monologues, I certainly don’t have them penciled in on my calendar or on some sort of crazy neurotic to-do list. It just happens. All too easily.
I have walls. Walls that have been under construction for 41 years, undergoing constant renovations as pieces start to crumble and fall to the ground. I want all the pieces to crumble and fall to the ground, but they go back up as quickly as they start to crumble.
I am afraid of getting hurt. There, I said it. I am afraid of being vulnerable and then being made to regret being vulnerable because someone used it against me. Most times this results in situations going exactly how I feared they would go. Because I was right, obviously. I just confirmed that I am justified to guard my vulnerability like the Hope diamond. No, actually it’s because it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I go into most things expecting turmoil, convincing myself that I have to put up a fight right from the start to show that I won’t be made a fool. The wall has been up long before the battle started, making it even more difficult to knock down.
My name is Tez. I am a self-inflictor.