when you were younger, you were often told off for being too sensitive. as if you could control it. as if you, taking your own pain seriously, as if that was the problem. it didn’t matter that you were being bullied - and it never mattered if the bully was your parent. it just mattered that you reacted to it.
the other day someone asked why you always seem to take things in stride. you don’t know how to say - i don’t, i am just not allowed to be a human where others could see it happen.
you watch other people have emotions in public and are often stunned by them. you are always walking carefully around your own, knowing that at some point you could slip and start weeping through your sunday evening apropos of nothing. you’re not allowed to feel big things. when you feel big things, you’re a messy, annoying person. it’s ugly when you cry. it’s uncomfortable for everyone.
the other day, you were relating another story to your therapist. you paused for a moment and then let out that little bark of laughter - it shouldn’t have hurt, but i guess it did!
you promise that you’re not upset about it. you’re never upset about anything. you just pass through this world - ghostlike. numb. promising others - oh! i’ve changed a lot since i was a kid.
do you ever get in those moods where you don’t know how to feel and everything kinda feels mixed up and you’re just sitting there alone in your room trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you
