Vulnerability

What is it that makes humans so afraid of being protectionless, of being vulnerable? Is it that incredible fear of being hurt that makes us put up barriers between ourselves and others? Or do we just like being mysterious? Is this the reason that, usually, the people who can see right through those thick layers of protection scare us so much? Or are we secretly, if subconciously, glad that someone has finally decided to take the time to discover us and the amazing person that we are? So, why do we do this? Why do we put up barriers between ourselves and other people when the vulnerability of someone else is what makes them so attractive? That rawness, that freshness, isn't that what makes us feel so strongly about someone? Is it really that we are terrified of one another and what they might see or is it that we are terrified of ourselves and what might be revealed to us if we stop hiding from ourselves? Is fear of vulnerability what makes us cry ourselves to sleep instead of crying in front of the person that pains us? Do we fear that showing that weakness will only give them strength? What if that is exactly what we need for them to see us for what we really are: people. What if that callousness is what pushes us further and further away from other people of our species? What if the only cure is to be vulnerable and raw and fresh because that is what we are meant to be? What if our mysteries were made public and we were able to cry in the faces of our enemies and laugh at whatever we thought was funny? Would we then be more open and less horribly afraid of love or would we just crumple at the slightest breeze? Would we be able to be free, released from the chains of what society says, of what we are supposed to be, do, say, free to be ourselves without inhibitions? Is freedom really that frightening to us? So, however hypocritical I am, I say, why not be vulnerable, why not show that vulnerableness. For me, the person I try hardest to block is the one who can strip me down (mentally not physically haha) in a time so small there is no word for it. The person who I try to protect myself from with baggy clothes and sarcasm knows me. He sees me. He doesn't see that me that I dress in the morning and send off to school, he sees the me who is still at home enjoying a book that she doesn't understand and yet loves anyways. He sees the me who thinks too much, the me who is. The essence of me, my core. I'm not sure he knows that. Yesterday I was feeling more raw than ever and a friend, J., told me to show him that vulnerable side. And I was...am...terrified. Because that is it. That is ME. I will have no more excuses, no more protections and what if that is not enough? Not enough for what, I wonder. Not enough for him to feel the way I feel, or think I feel or something. I will have nothing left to give. But maybe, maybe that is all I should ever give. Because I don't think I would ever really be happy if he accepted that facade. That facade is not me. In my vulnerability, I am pure, bare, free. Terrified, shaking like a wet cat and hoping to whoever hears me that he will...that he will love me as much as I loved that boy I knew.