I ask for the truth, but how much of it do I want to hear. Honesty is crucial but the binary does not seem to exist; instead I find comfort in the things left unsaid. I sit here in isolation as these nameless bodies walk past me, the sadness within reflected outwardly without hesitation, I dismiss the pity knowing that further suppression will only cause greater carnage. I ask for the truth I want to be told, not the truth you want me to listen to. As the two do not coincide, I unconsciously allow for the destruction of my self-esteem- and this pathetic state is as much a consequence of my own failings as it is not.
The sensitivity or the lack of begets the question of my inability to handle my emotions, afterall it is easier to fault someone than it is to internalize my own shortcomings. At the end of the day it almost feels like I must make a choice between tear-stained notebooks and strength. Yet these tears are the realest thing about me, unfiltered but easily triggered. At this instance, my focus is lost and the day feels ruined, unsure of what to do next, the power of my thoughts dangerously being rationalised. All I wanted was to be someone everyone dear to me can be proud of but instead I find myself acting on my anger and crafting solutions to sour relationships before they are fully formed. The toxicity of my mind is so fucking lethal but I’ve learned to work with the good and dispel the evil on multiple occasions as I will today. I want to tell him to fuck off, politely of course, because he is better off without me but I know so little of the potential I have. Maybe my extra-sensitivity will help establish some sort of neutrality or balance, maybe I can be a value-enhancer and just maybe, someone is alright with getting Vidya with a free side-dish of overemotional.
It’s strange how my immediate reaction to being hurt is to further stab the open wound with debilitating thoughts fueled by insecurities. I wish I could make them feel what I feel and to know how it hurts to be a prisoner of my emotions. But what then will set me apart from them….. Maybe the binary is between being a weak or nasty woman, I’d be obliged to choose weak because I’d have a much harder time dealing with the thought of being the reason behind someone else’s tear stained notebook