#closeddoor

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closed

Sometimes you just need to close that door (temporarily)and lock yourself in.

> When I think about issues mentioned in said book I have getting in the way of my professional life. There were so many times where I was given opportunities and the doors shut in my face because of me. It had nothing to do with them, they did nothing wrong. I wrecked things for myself because I refused to take ownership and accountability and I let my past define my future by staying stuck in it. Instead of thinking I am worthy because I have Jesus and don’t need external relationships. I let these temporary people who wanted a quick fix not anything legit harm and effect me. I am glad I am recovered now from that and I don’t have a “love addiction”. My partner taught me a lot about love i didnt know otherwise and church. I found love in Christ that is everlasting where Christ now fills a void for the attention i received from men. I pour out my soul to Jesus. It comes with time it’s not an overnight process. You have to realize a temporary fix and a liquid bandaid is not substantial long term. That being said, saying “No” was hard for me because I was a bonafied people pleaser. So when guys asked I wasn’t even really interested i said yes. I often compare myself to Ella enchanted. That level of people pleasing. I am slowly learning about boundaries and saying no. It’s harder than it looks for someone who had zero boundaries with parents as a kid so is this way. I wasn’t allowed to have boundaries growing up so because of that i didnt develop them as an adult. My parents were horrible parents who refused to let me put my foot down and get frustrated and say no. It caused an insecure attachment style. That and the fact I have grief I am trying to get over. Grief at a young age and zero therapy to cope with loss of half a family is hard and never saying goodbye. I went from self harming which I no longer do to freedom from it years later. And yes back then I used AA for that. (There is zero shame in asking for help when you need help). Admitting and reflecting is like saying yeah there were times I needed medical attention and didnt go get it because I felt the stigma around health. I am good now. But there were times I wasn’t. I am never going to be 100% , but I am doing the best I can do in this moment and I forgive myself for not getting help all those times I desperately needed it. The issue i have with this country is how they view mental illness. I don’t agree with romanticizing it but I do agree we need to teach this stuff in schools to help kids. I didn’t go to therapy until I was 18 years old and had full control and even then it was a college therapist. It’s a difficult road when you have had as many issues as me but the light at the end of the tunnel is how you are in recovery. I am blessed because I have Jesus now. Jesus filled holes i never thought could close for me. I realized if those were important opportunities I would have been given them. If Jesus wanted that for me he would have made it happen. Figuring out the correct path has been hard for me. It’s just no everywhere but I have faith and trust in Jesus that it will be okay. Whatever my purpose is I will find it. A closed door means they could not have helped you the way god wanted or led you in the correct direction. So do not be afraid for a moment because a door closes for a path that was never meant for you to begin with. Rejoice because you don’t know what could have happened if you had and you don’t know why god blocked that. Maybe that person and that job wouldnt have gone well. God knows what he is doing. I no longer morn but I thank god for closed doors, and saving me from suffering.

The closed door at the end of the hall had been there since Nora moved into the building. Fourteen floors. Twelve units per floor. Every apartment identical in layout except for the one at the end. That door was different. It was older, made of dark wood where the others were painted white. Moreover, it had no number. No peephole. And in the six months she had lived on the fourteenth floor, she had never seen it open. Secrets and suspense rarely announce themselves with noise. More often, they wait behind a closed door that no one speaks about. She asked her neighbor, Mrs. Delgado, about it once. They were riding the elevator together, and Nora mentioned the door in passing. Mrs. Delgado's expression shifted immediately. Her mouth tightened. "That door stays closed," she said. "It's always been closed. Don't ask about it again." The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out without another word. Consequently, Nora did not ask again. But she did not stop wondering. The closed door became a splinter in her mind. A question that refused to heal. Quiet dread did not require threats. It required only a door that should open but never did. The Sound Behind the Door The first sound came on a Tuesday night. Nora was walking back from the trash chute when she heard it. A soft scraping. Like furniture being moved. Or something being dragged. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and listened. The sound was coming from behind the closed door. It lasted perhaps ten seconds. Then silence returned, heavy and complete. Standing there for a long moment, she felt her heart beating faster than it should. Then she walked back to her apartment and locked the door behind her. But she did not sleep well that night. Over the following weeks, she heard more sounds. Always at night. Always faint. A muffled voice once. A soft thud another time. And once, unmistakably, the sound of a door closing from somewhere deep inside the apartment. But the closed door at the end of the hall never opened. Not when she walked past it in the mornings. Not when she came home in the evenings. It remained shut, silent, and impenetrable. Meanwhile, her curiosity grew teeth. Place-based tension had turned her own hallway into a stage. And the closed door was the only actor that never appeared. The Research She Shouldn't Have Done Nora began to research the building. She searched old property records. Additionally, she read archived newspaper articles. And she discovered something that made her blood run cold. Thirty years ago, a woman named Evelyn Marsh had lived in the apartment at the end of the hall. She had been a recluse. No visitors. No mail. Zero contact with the outside world. Then one day, she simply vanished. The landlord had found the apartment empty. The door was locked from the inside. And Evelyn Marsh was never seen again. Consequently, the closed door had been sealed shut after that. By order of the building management. No explanation given. Nora stared at the screen. Her hands were cold. The closed door was not just a door. It was a tomb. Or a cage. Or something else entirely. And she had been hearing sounds from behind it for weeks. Consequently, she had a choice. She could forget what she had learned, ignore the sounds, pretend the closed door was just a door. Or she could find out what was really behind it. The question was whether she wanted to know badly enough to risk finding out. The Night She Almost Knocked On a Thursday night, Nora stood in the hallway at 2:17 AM. The building was silent. The lights were dim. And the closed door waited at the end of the hall like a held breath. She had not planned to come out here. But she had heard the sound again. A voice. A single word, muffled but clear. Please. It had been a woman's voice. And it had sounded like it was coming from just behind the wood. She walked toward the closed door. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet. The hallway stretched around her, long and narrow and empty. When she reached the door, she stopped. Cold radiated from the wood. Furthermore, she could smell something faint. Dust. Old perfume. And something else. Something metallic. Raising her hand to knock, she watched her knuckles hover an inch from the dark wood. And then, from the other side, a voice whispered, "Don't." Nora's blood turned to ice. The voice was not Evelyn Marsh. The voice was her own. Timing-based tension had kept her frozen. But this was not tension. This was terror. The Door That Opened Itself She lowered her hand. Stepping back, she watched as the closed door began to open. Slowly. Silently. The dark wood swung inward, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond. There was no one standing there. No hand on the handle. Just the empty threshold and the black interior of an apartment that had been sealed for thirty years. The smell of old perfume grew stronger. And beneath it, the metallic scent of blood. Nora should have run. Turning and fleeing back to her apartment to lock the door and never look at the end of the hall again was the logical choice. But she did not run. Because from inside the darkness, a voice spoke again. Her own voice. "Come inside. I've been waiting for you." And against every instinct, Nora took a step forward. The closed door was no longer closed. And what waited inside knew her name. Thriller fiction often ends with a scream. But real fear ends with a door that opens by itself. And a voice that sounds exactly like your own. Psychological terror does not chase you. It invites you in. Read the full article