fortress of my own making

when you spent your time building walls around yourself and now you don't have people to spend your time with

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. the walls were meant to protect me, not isolate me. at first, they felt like a sanctuary, a place where i could exist without the risk of being hurt, judged, or misunderstood. i stacked each brick carefully, telling myself it was temporary, that one day i’d open the gates and let someone in. but walls are funny that way. once they’re up, they’re hard to take down. you get used to the quiet, to the predictability of it. and before you know it, the walls aren’t just a boundary—they’re your whole world.

i told myself i was safe. that i didn’t need anyone. that i was better off like this. and for a while, i believed it. it’s easier to convince yourself you’re content when you don’t let yourself want anything more. but now, when the quiet stretches too long, i feel the weight of it. the silence isn’t peaceful anymore; it’s suffocating. there’s no one to talk to, no one to sit with, no one to share the little moments that make up a life. the walls kept everything out, and now there’s nothing left inside.

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i think about the people i’ve kept at arm’s length. the ones i pushed away because letting them in felt too risky, too raw. i wonder where they are now, what they’re doing, if they ever think of me. probably not. people move on. they find others to fill the spaces i left empty. and here i am, stuck inside my fortress, wondering if it was worth it. all that effort to keep myself safe, and now the only thing i’m protected from is the chance to feel anything at all.

i’ve tried to convince myself that i like being alone, that this solitude is a choice. but it doesn’t feel like one anymore. it feels like a consequence, like a punishment i handed down to myself without realizing what it would cost. the worst part is, i don’t even know how to fix it. the walls have been up for so long that i’ve forgotten how to open the door. even if i wanted to let someone in, i wouldn’t know where to start. the thought of trying—of being vulnerable, of risking rejection—is almost more terrifying than the loneliness itself.

so i stay here, pacing the same empty rooms, listening to the echo of my own footsteps. i built these walls to protect myself, but now they’re all i have. and i don’t know if i’ll ever find a way out.