When the walls come down, what is left?

Sometimes I feel terrible about the bullshit I put Mike through with my insecurities. I mean, it's nearly impossible to not let your fears reflect in the way you go about handling things. Even if you have a strong will, I'd imagine because you are a homo sapien that you'd slip up once in a while, even if all of your defenses are intact. The more I try to be less vulnerable, the more I make myself vulnerable. God, who am I kidding? I am always vulnerable. My walls were destroyed ages ago and I've never been motivated to rebuild them. And even if said metaphorical walls were in existence, they wouldn't be very stable.

My problem is that I don't want to pretend that something doesn't bother me, because then I feel like I'm lying. Even if that philosophy withstands for a few minutes and I say that I'm alright when I'm not, I always end up slipping because Mike has evolved to the point of seeing right through me. My transparency bothers me. Don't most women want their significant other to be able to pinpoint when something is wrong?

I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm torn between wanting to be heard and wanting my emotions to remain behind lock and key for fear of a reaction- mostly mine. For years I was stuck in a situation where my partner didn't care or respond to the way I felt about things that he would do or say. The moment I'd open my mouth, the TV's volume would instead boom over my voice. I then grew accustomed to dealing with my own shit. Alone. And I feel like all of those things began to eat away at me inside and I am just now beginning to recover from all of the damage that was inflicted over the course of two years. It's not fair to Mike that he has to deal with my shit while I recoup, because it reflects frequently in our relationship.

From my 2 cents

If Mike walks ahead of me on the sidewalk, I remember how the other man never wanted to walk beside me, never wanted to hold my hand. Then I feel hollow, like for a split second history is about to repeat itself, and I mentally plead for Mike not to ask me what is wrong because I just know that no matter the issue, if it involves the other man, it will hurt him. He will get frustrated, but I won't be able to see that because he is not so transparent. He's a sturdy brick wall, and I crumble like aged chalk that turns to dust with contact.

I strive to move beyond this so I can fully enjoy what Michael and I share, because if I don't, something is going to deteriorate. Something I don't want to.