Swimming the Depths of Myself

poolI think and I feel deeply.  Some of those that love me have told me I go too deep sometimes, which is valid.  I do over think.  I don’t believe I over feel because I don’t think that is possible, but it is definitely debatable point.

I’ve come to the realization recently, though, that I am not as open to others as I imagined myself to be.  When I am wounded emotionally, I’ve always thought that others could see the blood streaming.  When I desire, I was so certain that everyone could see my naked need.  When I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, I wondered that no one else helped pick up the load.  But the only emotion I really show (outside of a small circle), is my happiness, because that is what I want to give people.  And, actually, my sense of humor and capacity for joy is both a gift and a curse, because being able to see the ridiculousness of any situation makes it hard to take myself seriously sometimes. Humanity is my own private inside joke, and others are sometimes fortunate enough to share the punchline.  But by and large, the rest of me remains buried deep.

I am very nuanced in my ability to pick up on others’ emotions and energies.  I’m like a funnel, and whatever comes in, I process and spit back out into the world.  This is why, I think, I have such a burning need to be creating and to stay constantly busy.  If I don’t remain active, I dwell on what I’ve absorbed.  If I spend time around selfish or negative people, it drains me.  But I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that this is an ability that not many share.  Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses, and how boring a world it would be if this were not the case.  My assumption that everyone could read me as easily as I can read others has caused me no end of trouble through my life, though.

Beyond that, there remains the fact that I’ve hidden away the secret parts of myself over the past few years.  Imagine my surprise, thinking myself an open book and finding out that I am inscrutable in so many ways. It’s a painful discovery.  Three and 1/2 years working an office job made me so good at wearing masks that I didn’t even know I wore them anymore. It wasn’t that it was a terrible company to work for.  In fact, many of the higher ups were generous in donating to their causes, working to help the less fortunate where they could.  But the mindset was completely foreign.  They had no way to feel empathy for certain groups of people.  And rather than rock the boat, I just learned to smile and nod.  I adapted myself to become what they needed, and it was only when I started voicing what I needed from the company that I realized I was never going to get it.  The damage was done though.

Slowly, these past few months since I’ve left the office job, I’ve been working at making myself more vulnerable, both to others and myself.  But not enough, because the walls I’ve built around myself are so much higher than I thought.  Life is too short to live in fear, though, especially when what you fear is the very pieces of yourself that need most to be shared. I am going to plunge into the emotional currents of my inner self and figure this out.  It’s not easy, but I need to do it.

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