The depths of my soul

"You should be writing from the depths of your soul, if you have the courage". Louisa May Alcott, Little Women.

That's the question then isn't it? Do I have the courage to write 'from the depths of my soul'? The truth is I'm terrifed. Terrified to write the truth. Terrified to really live my life. Just plain terrified. I know this is no way to go through life but it has een 33 years now and I don't know how to move forward. I have been shut down so long, I'm terrified I won't be able to reboot.

Don't ask me when I shut down, I can't tell. It's not that I don't want too, but more that I don't know myself. I don't know if it was one event or a series of many, or even if it was anything at all, it could just be biological. If you talked to some of my friends they may have a theory or two a couple of them they shared with me a few years ago now. Was it a particularly bad break up or was I abused as a child? Neither are true to the best of my knowledge. I can categorically say that I have NEVER been abused. As for the break up.....well you have to have feel something for a break up to be painful...don't you?

First kiss - well this could explain alot. I have never been an exhibitionist. I have never wanted people's attention. I am perfectly happy blending into the background. Unfortunately we don't always get what we want. The first time I kissed a boy I was 12 years old. My family had moved to a small town and I had been attending this somewhat backward school for around three months. We were somewhat of a novelty at first and we all received a lot of attention, not all of it good. Girls got jealous of the attention I was getting from a number of the boys and making friends was difficult. There was one boy, cuter than them all. He was about the same height as me, I was reasonably tall for my age then, had short dark hair, he was tanned and athletic. Easily the best looking boy in the school. Anyway we were getting wood one day, I don't recall what the wood was for but it was our turn. While in the wood shed surrounding by the scent of pine and damp I allowed him to cup my breast in his hand. He gently squeezed the flesh then rubbed his thumb over my now taut nipple. I felt nothing. Emotionally. Physically on the other hand.... Anyway, that was the last day of term. Later that afternoon, once school had finished, we jumped on the bus to go home. As usual we sat down the back. That's when he kissed me. On the lips. Parting mine with his tongue. It was soft. I got butterflies. But that was it. Then it was over. Again emotionally I felt nothing. Nor did I feel anything when his friends tried, unsuccessfully, to kiss me. No shame. No anger. Nothing.