Being sensitive to the world is a tough thing. It takes a while to figure out.
When you’re a sensitive kid, everything makes you cry. When you get a little older, crying is embarrassing, so you pretend like nothing bothers you. Then you start to convince yourself that nothing bothers you and you don’t care. Can’t tell that person I’m interested in them, because then they’ll know I care, and I can’t have that. Can’t tell this person that I’m feeling insecure today and could use some reassurance, because I need them to think I don’t care. Look at me and how little I care about everything, I’m so cool.
But I’m NOT cool and I DO CARE. SO MUCH.
So you’re constantly at war with yourself, beating yourself back to keep anybody from seeing you. “You can’t come out today, me. We’ve got too much to do and we don’t have time for a crying break every 2 hours. Back in your cupboard where you’re safe.” Then I boarded up that fucking cupboard and didn’t listen to a thing that bitch had to say for years. Nothing bad. Nothing good. Just nothing. I’m cool, I don’t care.
I was 26 when I had the saddest thought of my life thus far: “I guess I’m just miserable as an adult. I guess I just don’t enjoy things anymore. I guess this is just who I am.”
This isn’t me. This is a persona that I created to try and make my life easier. So why is everything so hard? Why don’t I remember the last time I laughed at anything? Maybe life was better when I just cried sometimes. Maybe I went a little overboard on the “cool” angle here.
I’m sorry, me. I’m sorry for always putting you down and never seeing the good you had to offer. I’m sorry for ignoring you and trying to make you into somebody else. I’m sorry that I was embarrassed to be you.
Let’s not fight anymore.