And held nothing back.
You’d know that I get scared a lot, worry about the future and obsess over things I cannot change. I’m still learning how to love myself and loving someone else the way they want to be loved is a long shot. I’m not even sure I know what love is (even though I can tell you what it isn’t).
I feel like crap a lot of days, days when “I’m fine” is a smokescreen, not the truth. I am a runner, avoidant and wary of getting close to anyone. The laughter can be hollow and the smiles don’t always reach my eyes.
My pride is both a defence and my downfall: asking for help is hard for me. I don’t pray as much as I used to, even though I know God is always listening and Heaven isn’t that far away. I’m attracted to my destruction, I’m curious about things that could ruin me, I dabble in them sometimes.
I don’t want to want it, but other people’s approval of me does feel good. I change my mind often, even when I’ve sworn that it’s made up. I believe in second chances but I’m too apprehensive to give a first one.
I’m so much of a pacifist that I feel like a part-time coward, then the dam of repressed emotions bursts and I’m a flaming ball of white-hot anger. I’m an extremist.
I don’t know how to keep in touch and I’d rather be left alone till I’m absolutely needed, but there are times when loneliness bites hard and I bleed the ‘need’ for company.
Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t fall for me because I want you, I forget people easily. Maybe it’s a defence mechanism (a response to my fear of vulnerability):
“Remain detached and you won’t get hurt.” – Me to myself.
And because of my aloofness, I’m not sure anyone knows what my heart is like. They see flashes, leap to conclusions and I let them.
“The less they know about you, the safer you are.” – Me to myself, again.
But then I feel misunderstood and angry at the ones who don’t understand, which doesn’t make any sense because I don’t give much away. I feel tired. I feel strange. I feel sad. I feel I feel too much.