I was sitting in his car. We were driving. Not to any place in particular. Just driving out to nowhere. The music made for the perfect background score. But, we always have to stop. The journey always ends.

At the end of ours, I got off, went home and slept alone in my bed. 

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I lived in his house. Had a room. A dog. No family, though. We did that everyday. Live in one house, separate rooms. Then, one day I moved out.  Because that’s what you do when someone wants to live alone, without you.

That was about three years ago.

In my head, I’m still sitting in his car. I never got out of it. I just let the music play on as I looked on to the road ahead. It was dark, except for the car’s headlights that shone the way ahead—nothing but empty road. So, we kept driving on. I never got off, ever. 

In my head, I’m still sitting on my bed, in my room, in his house. I never really left. The walls are still the same colour, the curtains are drawn the same way. The bed is made the same way and I’m staring at the ceiling, wondering. I’m still there. I never really left, ever. 

It’s taken me 3 whole years to figure this out. That I never got over it. Moved on, yes. Got over, no. 

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In life, we all take the high road, at some point or the other; for some reason or the other. What we miss out on is how low we are in our lives when we take the high road. What’s the point anyway, we’ll tell ourselves. It doesn’t even matter anymore. 

And then, just like that, years pass by. You move on and tell yourself you got over it a long time ago; water under the bridge, right? 

But, how do you know you got over something if you never even tried dealing it out in the first place? 

What happens when you find yourself at the brink of something new; something that’s waiting to be explored; waiting to be felt with the deepest fragment of your being? What will you do then when you realize that you cannot feel that way because you’ve locked yourself in and blocked the world out? And you simply don’t know how to open up. It’s been so long you’ve forgotten where you left the key; the lock is rusted and cobwebs are forming on the inside. 

And you know what the funniest part of the whole thing is? It’s that you don’t even realize it until it happens to you, all over again. You can feel the good in it. You can tell that it’s good for you. You can tell that it’s not happening to harm you. Yet, you can’t seem to trust to let it happen; yet, you can’t trust yourself enough to let it happen. 

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You turn into a vault—full of memories that are made up of people, places, circumstances, decisions. And just like with all vaults, sometimes, you need to clean out the mess; get rid of all the lost and forgotten stuff that is only collecting unnecessary space and gathering dust. You don’t need it anymore; you grew out of them. You need to make space for new things, people, places and circumstances that will actually help you and be useful to you. 

Only one problem, though. You locked the vault so tight that you can’t pry it open by yourself; in fact, you even locked a part of you inside.

So, how do you open up when you can feel that something is worth opening up to, but you just don't know how to? How do you open up to someone who is sitting there, waiting for you to do just that? How do you open up when you can’t even trust your own feelings, let alone the world? 

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It’s one of the hardest things to do. But, just like everything that’s hard, you need to realize and understand that, one day, you will overcome your fear of opening up and come out on the other side, feeling genuine contentment. Because, at the moment, you’re living with a façade around you; one that says everything is okay; you’re okay.  At the moment, you’re in denial.

You’ve confused getting over with shutting out. And you’ve come so far ahead that you don’t know how to turn back and correct the mistake. It’s hard, I know.  

But, it’s not impossible. This, coming from someone who’s been struggling to do the same; so yes, it’s not impossible. Opening up essentially is a lot like a bud blossoming into a flower. It’s like unlearning something to learn it right the next time around. It’s not impossible; just difficult. You might need help; then again, you might not. It takes one small step at a time.

From saying the word to crying a river—you’ll get there, eventually. Be patient with yourself and just don’t hold back, no matter how difficult it may be. 

As for me, I’ll try getting out of the car, and leaving the room. This time, for good.