Older, but no wiser

...the plot.

It feels as though I should rename this blog "Older but no wiser".

Thoughts and words are too fragmented for anything any much more coherent than that at the moment.

It seems every time I get close to... to what? Closer to answers to the questions that took me into counselling? Closer to being me, being whole? Closer to my own soul? Whatever it is, every time I get closer to it, something shuts down; inner doors close, shutters go up on the windows; outwardly normality continues, but inwardly there's a retreat, and a gulf opens up between inner and outer personas with consciousness left to manage the outside whilst soul becomes locked away somewhere hidden inside.

That's about the best I can do to explain. There's something deep in there that frightens me. Something I don't want to meet and acknowledge, because it's power could upset the comfort of routine existence; could turn my picture of who I think I am upside down. I'm not talking skeletons in cupboards; they are merely old deeds. This is more fundamental than that. It's like being afraid of being born.