glamorous despair

The image is back, the one where I'm sitting in a heap on the floor with my dress fanned out around me in a sort of glamorous despair. It always shows itself when life gets stressful or hard. The hallway stretches out in front and behind me and people are passing by like someone has pressed the fast forward button. Only this time, there is someone who is moving slowly towards me. They are there to pick me up.

Every bone in my body screams to be left in a heap on the floor, but there is a certain comfort in the arms that are reaching out to save me. Do I fall completely into those arms and let them rescue me? Or do I resist and keep up this independent streak. There's perks to either choice. Comfort and protection vs. the struggle of doing something by myself. But in that struggle there is the sweet release when success finally arrives and the battle is won.

How long can i stay on the floor without reaching for the outstretched arm? How long will they wait for me to be willing to accept their help? Will they be there when I'm ready to stand up?

I want it. I want to accept the aid of the outstretched arm, but my heart is still fighting the urge to stay whole. It doesn't want to risk the pain of potential heartbreak. It still wants the attention and the thrill of the chase. It wants to be pursued and fought for, but instead it stays folded away within me on the floor. Maybe there it will be safe.

Or maybe giving it away is the ultimate adventure it craves....