Yes, I feel too much.
And no, I am not sorry.
I feel the smallest stirs of a leaf as it dances in the wind. I feel the pains of a pup who cannot find her mother. I feel the truly weak-in-my-knees feels when I spot an oldie still carrying a heavy load on his shoulder because his family is too poor to provide him a comfortable old age. I feel utterly delighted when I see a baby laugh. I feel my stomach tie itself in knots when it’s a super important day for me and I want it all to go right.
I feel.
And I feel.
And I feel some more.
I am not seeking permission. I am not seeking permission to cradle my grief, to lick my wounds and to nurse a broken heart. I am not seeking permission to express my overtly emotional emotions. I am not seeking permission to voice out my heart. Or my wounded pride. I am not seeking permission to giggle my giggles. I am not seeking permission for the joy that sprites right out of my eyes. I am not seeking for permission to care the way I care, or love with the intensity of a crackling fire. I am not seeking permission to experience all that goes on within me.
I understand you have your walls. I understand they are tall and don’t allow much to come through. And the bane of logic you gloat about? I am glad I have very little use of it. I know how practical and sensible you are since you keep all that you truly feel shut from the surface. You, the truly bad-ass one, you the rock.
I know you don’t like mating with your feelings. I know you hide them seven feet under, in a secret broom closet and forget about it. Or rather try to. I know you love being the hardcore, totally realistic human who’s got no time for fluff and heart.
And that’s exactly why, when you cross paths with someone like me, you feel threatened. You feel utterly uncomfortable because I bring out all the stirrings and emotions you’ve tried so hard to bash away with unforgiving Mr. Reason. You feel threatened because I make you feel.
So the next time you ask me to not feel so much or stop being so sensitive, I hope you remember that hidden trunk of all the unresolved emotions you so artfully hide.
And since no one’s told you this yet, I will. I am proud of my sensitivity. I am proud of my emotions. I am proud of the utter honesty they reflect. I am proud of being utterly human and not trying to be anything else. I am proud about my zero-need to put on a plethora of masks that camouflage what I feel. I am proud of how I embrace my pain and my laughter. I am proud about feeling it all:
The joy
The chaos
The love
The war
From my friends words......
