. . . giving so much thought to parts of myself that I'm called to lay down. It's counterproductive. This is even -- maybe especially -- true regarding what I've only discovered and allowed myself to consider about myself more recently and that I can't really talk about with anyone. (Well, I could probably pay a therapist again, but that would open another can of worms or two.)
Obsession is inevitably hurtful to the one obsessing and to the people he (or she) loves. Even though the territory between denial and obsession is probably far smaller, there is nonetheless a border somewhere between awareness and obsession. I'm not sure exactly where that line lies, but I imagine it's easy to wander close to the latter without being very aware of the danger one is in until one has crossed over, and once across there is no easy means of returning. I also suspect that, no matter how fascinating and exciting the uncharted land between the two might be, wandering around in it is far more perilous alone than it would be with a trustworthy guide who shares the same destination, who values the same aspects of the journey, to get there. And when the person who is supposed to serve as that guide has expressed utter disdain for the territory in question . . . well, I can't blame her for that. It's a scary land. But as for potentially wandering close to obsession on my own, some places are just destructive by nature, and the more appealing they may seem the better it is for the solo traveler to stay far from them. Though the world screams that self-discovery is the ultimate goal and self-denial is futile, I will instead trust that my Shepherd will provide my every true need.
This is probably not too cryptic, but nonetheless I won't make it any more plain.
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