The snow globe is different now. The glass is no longer opaque, much of the time it’s merely an illusion, one that will disappear if touched. There are still days when the glass keeps me trapped, but more often now, I trap myself in the memory of glass. I tread familiar paths around the edges of the snow globe because they’re well worn. Safe. Easy. On the days when the glass is an illusion, it’s only my fear of pushing against it that keeps me stuck.
Change doesn’t come easily to me, the familiar is safe, even if it isn’t what I need. Breaking patterns of behaviour is difficult, but it’s worth it for the moments I realise I’m out of the snow globe. The moments I feel real. The snow globe will always be here, it’s the walls my mind puts up when it feels threatened. It’s a safe numb place. It’s now longer the dark landscape it once was, my library is there as a work in progress, the woodlands stretch around it and the weather is warm more often than not. Luna, the person I am inside my head is here. Now she’s not only inside my head, sometimes, when I break through the walls of the snow globe, she’s me. Most of the time the only thing between us is a remembered glass wall.
In a lot of ways my room is the physical manifestation of my snow globe. It’s the place I go when I want to hide from the world. It’s hard to focus or be creative in there. It’s the place I sleep, the place I daydream, the place I shutdown. Getting out of my room and making a connection with another human being helps me get out of my head. I need to remember that’s the key to getting out of the snow globe. I need to remember most of the time those walls aren’t real, in acting like they are, I’m giving them power.