You and I are the same.
This stuck with me.

But are we?

I didn’t think so at first. It seemed so superficial, childish almost. How could we be the same? We clearly are not. We like each other, but it does not mean we are alike, right? Right?

I thought about it long and hard. From time to time, this came out like a sore thumb. Something did not feel right. Something was bothering me. But what? How could you think we are the same? But most importantly, how could you tell…

We met online, but we already knew each other. Not in a symbolic sense, in the actual sense. We met a couple of times when we were kids, talked maybe once. We went to high school in the same town, and had some mutual acquaintances.

I always thought you were cute, but I was an awkward child with zero confidence and no social skills, so I felt quite intimidated by making friends or, God forbid, boyfriends! That is actually an understatement — I was terrified of attraction as a mere concept.

Don’t get me wrong, I was not immune to attraction, but I never felt safe enough to expose it to the whole world. I held my feelings like a flickering light, far away from any pesky winds everybody else could blow and ruin it. I kept everything carefully hidden, all tucked away in a secret place of my mind, where nobody could hurt me.

Because people would definitely hurt my light, because my light was so fragile and oh-so-helpless.

These relationships all around me seemed so complicated and foreign. How tough could you be to lay it all bare for the world to see? They will watch you trying and failing and suffering and… I did not want that.

But sometimes people would not suffer, and it was quite beautiful. Mainly in movies and songs and on TV, but it had to come from somewhere real, right? This love thing that seemed to make everything come alive, who made people do some crazy stuff, kiss and dance and dream and dare.

Of course, that could never be me.

If I were to try any of these relationship things, I would definitely fail. Hard. Unimaginable failure. THEY would see how damaged I am, how insecure and small, how imperfect. And I could never be imperfect. Not on my watch.

So I was in quite a pickle. I needed protection more than anything else, a cover-up for my true self, a gigantic blanket to hide under when the storm was stronger than I imagined. Then, I found it! It was not difficult you see, it was quite a simple engineering solution, all great minds think of eventually.

I built myself a wall!

After all, the enemies were close.

I put up this big scary tall wall. My new perfectly crafted image of sobriety and professionalism. Or so I thought (I was a child after all). And crossed my fingers nobody could peek through my brand-new construction.

Naturally, over time, I had to upkeep this shiny wall of mine. A crack there, an imperfection here, it was hard labor but someone had to do it. Overall, my wall was a good wall, sturdy and well made, and I could proudly look at it and call it my own.

Some days, my wall looked bigger, scarier, some days it looked lonely.

But enough with this nonsense, it was a great wall! Or so I thought, until a dilemma reoccurred.

You see, I found myself not requiring a wall in every situation. I know, hard to believe, after all, it was a great, great wall! But sometimes, I needed something else. I had no idea what that might be, but it certainly felt like it wasn’t a wall. A window maybe? Or a car? Or a door?

I tried building all of these, but it was hard work when you have a wall to care for.

Life moved on, chaotic and unfair, even more so than expected. Me and my wall were going strong. I was building all sorts of contraptions behind my wall. It was more like a fortress now, cutting through the blue sky up to the clouds. I never left it anyway.

Sometimes the wall from within me was also present in the real world. Isolation was enforced on me and eventually by me. It became my best friend. Maybe that was the time I built my wall, or was it long before? I can’t remember now, but it definitely was a flourishing period for my wall.

And suddenly, something changed. There was a commotion outside. I climbed my fortress to see it clearer, and it hit me.

Freedom.

Or at least, some form of it.

But it was there, it was real, and it came knocking at my wall.

Huh, what a time to be alive!

But what about my wall? What should I do now? Should I greet my guest? Invite it in? No. Definitely not invite it in. After all, how can it climb up my wall?

So I should go outside. But how? Like this? So unprepared? I must prepare.

So I had my second-best idea ever: I built myself an armor!

That’s brilliant, right? What do you do when you are in a battle? Build a wall and then an armor. So I did just that. I went inside my fortress and handpicked all the best materials for my new creation. I put in a lot of work, hours of endless details, days of crafting the perfect design.

And finally, I was ready.

I went outside in the glaring light, my armor shinier than ever, jumped over my wall, and faced it. And surprisingly, it was not that bad! People liked my armor, even loved it! They took pictures of it and all that. It was a hit, and I was thrilled.

The armor is never coming off. That’s it!

So I spent most of my days outside my wall, wearing my armor, but always coming back to it when the darkness fell. This worked fine, until it didn’t.

Some people decided to keep pestering at my wall, even drawing some graffiti on it. True vandals. But I kind of liked it, they were funny and I enjoyed looking at them trying to break it from outside. My wall, of course, hated it.

I felt conflicted, so I did nothing. Sometimes I did something: repair my wall or suggest to the little rascals ways to put it down more efficiently. Encouraging them, if you will.

I also revised my armor. Made it lighter, made it better. The new model was more exquisite than I had dreamed of. A little too good if you asked me. More slick and seamless, it allowed me to sneak in all kinds of situations unharmed.

Eventually, I got hit.

My armor was down. My wall had holes. My fortress was okay, but for how long? I panicked.

The damage was too rough to repair. I had to retreat. I just had to. I stayed in my fortress and looked outside, scared. Everything was crumbling down. It was awful.

But it somehow felt the same… The same amount of awful as before, but now the wall was not so strong. Yet there I was, unharmed, in my mighty fortress. The danger had passed, the panic subsided.

Silence.

I took off my armor because it felt too heavy. Looked at the ruins of my wall. Nothing to be done there. The repair would be too costly, I said.

And I was right.

I started to wander more, outside the contour of my wall. No armor this time. It felt bad, really bad. But sometimes it felt really good. Like the time when you buy ice cream flavors and there are some decent ones, but then you find one glorious taste and everything is worth it.

But those moments were brief.

Most of the time, venturing outside my wall really sucked. But it also sucked to be inside it. There was no great-tasting ice cream there.

So a crazy idea sneaked in.

Do I really need my wall?

I needed my fortress, of course, that was my home. But the wall did not provide much value to my day-to-day existence. So I had another crazy idea: to tear down my wall.

To go against my own creation — can you imagine?!

But my mind was all made up. I had to go face my toughest battle to date: the one against myself. Technically it was more like a tactical battle than a fiery assault. More like chess than Call of Duty.

But I deceived you again.

This battle was only officiated then. In reality, it had started a long, long time before that. It had started when the first doubt crawled inside my head and I became wary of this wall of mine. The trust I deceived myself to put in my wall became unbearable and overwhelming and finally unavoidable. I just had to name it, you know, for the historians.

That brings us now.

My wall, you ask? It is in bad shape, if any. Few ruins here and there, enough to taunt me sometimes. The terrain is rough though, deep excavations draw the line where it once lay. I have to jump over them all the time, even trip on the dents if I am really tired.

My fortress is intact, not the same, but running smoothly. I even made it homelier and put in some houseplants here and there.

But sometimes, before I go to sleep, I close my eyes and remember the wall I built, blocking most of the sunlight, making it even brighter than the sun.

Another curiosity: whenever I find myself looking in awe at people, mesmerized and amazed at them just living their life, I catch myself wondering — where is their wall? Does their wall know that they do all that outside?

And then I laugh at myself for this silly thought.

Truthfully, my wall still haunts me sometimes, still whispers cruel things in my ear, blaming me for its demise. It feels like a curse you learn to live with. It is the price you pay for what you did, and is a much smaller price than you think.

Then you come into the picture.

Unadvised, unannounced.

I liked it, it felt amazing, but then it did not. Everything stopped prematurely. You pulled away and left me wondering why. You told me you are not ready, you told me you are not okay. Maybe your wall was doing all the talking?

I spiraled. I disappeared. I searched and suffered and mourned. Where is my wall?

But this is not about you. This is about me.

A few times we spoke, you told me something weird: We are the same. Are we? I spiraled again.

And then it all came back — the memory of my wall. Bittersweet, I must say, in these times of need. It felt bad, revealing, and painful. I felt ashamed and exposed. You caught me even before I did.

I must say, this is the first time I remember my wall. It sounds untrue, but it is. I never truly faced its presence. It scared me, made me think I am broken beyond repair if I admit to it.

Imagine trying to hide a wall. Over the years it was, needless to say, an unsuccessful endeavor. But this particular reveal felt different. I was hurt by you, by your wall, and now I have to face how many people I must have hurt with mine.

I can’t stay mad though. How could I? This is what you sacrifice for breaking your wall. Despite the cutting pain, you could still sense the good in him. You could feel his light and his intricacies, but also something else. A darkness, maybe?

I was drawn to him because I saw him fully, recognized him in pure daylight. I thought he was worth it, but he disagreed.

We parted ways mid-day, right next to the ruins of my wall. We met for a last glance, naked and confused, inside this suspended space outside of perception.

I watched him, petrified and helpless, walking further and further away. I couldn’t move or speak, my eyes full of unspoken painful tears. But he was still so close to me.

In this place, there is no exit door, no end or beginning. I could hear his heartbeat sync with mine until everything became nothing.

Can I dare to be in love? Such a heavy word to utter. Once you admit to it, fear and doubt flood everything in sight. You surrender to defeat. The sky gets darker, sadder, the silence calls you a filthy liar, people call you naive. You feel like an impostor amongst everyone else’s love stories.

Should I dare to dream a bit? Should I speak my heart for once? At least, let it whisper faintly?

Like a hit of heroin, I crave it back once more. Like a failed gambler waiting at dawn to have one more chance.

Is this torture ever going to end? I thought my fortress was finally freed. Did I deceive myself all this time? The doubts are the hardest part. I find myself at war once again.

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