My Wall

I come to the wall. The wall is big. I cannot scale it with my bare hands. I am stuck on this side of the wall. The wall has lettering on it, in leopard print to be specific. It says you don't love me, you don't care about me, and you could try harder; hurtful things that just seem to repeat themselves in my head. This is my wall, the wall that I meet every time I try and think about getting myself back to a happy place mentally. The leopard print is significant because a certain ex loved leopard print. It reminds me where these hurtful words came from. The soccer ball is synonymous with my bad-mouthing both "the ex" and girls in general at this point in my life. Like soccer, it is enjoyable and healthy for me to do this. But, like the 60 year old soccer player whose joints have deteriorated, at some point the soccer playing in my head can become detrimental. To get over this wall I must kick the soccer ball over. Get it out of my sight and not think about playing anymore. Only then can I refocus my efforts into devising a way to traverse this obstacle. The problem is, right now I'm enjoying playing soccer a little too much to give up my ball.