It took me a long time, but I’ve learned to accept it.
I’ve gone through years of feeling like someone looking at the world through a window — watching the people inside talking and laughing. I want to join in, but I just don’t know how.
At times, I feel like a child waving at strangers as they pass, only to feel disappointment when there’s no acknowledgment. It makes me sad when I see the dispirited look on a child’s face when the world doesn’t reciprocate in a friendly manner. I try to make it up with a big wave and a smile as I pass.
I’ve been told I’m too sensitive. Perhaps I am, but why does it seem that people sound like they mean that in a bad way? I feel so very sad when I see animals killed by cars. The horrors of human against human violence fill me with indescribable heartache, and I cry.
I cry more than I would like to admit. I hate it when I cry. That vulnerability has been used against me enough that their scars make me want to hide. I’ve learned to quell the tears, but my eyes still feel the sting of suppression.
I’m told I trust too much, but also that I don’t trust enough.
“You need to…” “You should be…..” “Why don’t you…”. “Why aren’t you…”
Am I that different? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps I’m only human, and that’s good enough.
