The Truth About Being The Girl Who Feels Too Much

The thing that kills us is ourselves.

We’re humans, though we’re not the only ones who feel emotions, we’re the only ones that get damaged by them.

We have the capacity to be destroyed by just these chemical reactions in our mind. A little out of balance and we’re vulnerable just like thin ice on a lake.

We feel too much and it kills us. slowly or at once.

And when we feel too less, everything is cold to our touch, nothing matters then.

We struggle and struggle to stay in balance, but we all fall off the wagon, we fall off buildings, we fall off bridges. we fall of the thin wire we’re always walking on.

Some make their homes right there in the darkness of the abyss, they learn to live without feeling the warmth of the sun.

They’re too tired of struggling. I run into such people from time to time when I become like them for a short while.

I run into the ones that always live in the sunshine too, but I just glance at them from the shadows I’m always walking in, under my grey clouds. They seem so far away, they seem so bright. I wonder what they do when their sun dims. They must get sad when winter comes. Do they sit by the fire and pretend to be warm?

Sometimes I feel too much, or feel nothingness but it’s still too much.

come emptiness is still the heavier feeling?

Our emotions get the best of us, what are we if not ruled by them?

We try to hide them, we try to cover them up under smiles, behind zipped up jackets, hiding our tracks of tears by constantly washing our faces.

But the red, sad eyes, what about them? Nothing, nothing. “It’s just the cold. It’s just the cold.” Wind is watering my eyes.

Another day, another excuse.

Constantly being pushed and pulled between feeling too much about things that don’t matter and feeling nothing about things that do.

What are we, I often ask myself, if nothing but puppets of our souls?

I cry when I want to laugh, and laugh when I want to cry.

What is it that I want?

Nothing but peace, nothing but peace.

Maybe in another life, perhaps.

Oh, dear friend, my dearest old friend, don’t ask me if I’m okay, or I might not be that anymore.

I’ve been trying to find who I should be this year, “how about your own self?” You ask me. I stare and laugh and laugh and laugh. Oh,my dearest old friend, how come you still don’t understand how I work?

You know I might die if I become someone so dull, with no emotions for anyone but myself. Do you want to watch me give up on everything, like I always do, because I get bored? I am tired of your disappointed sighs and eyes. Leave me, for a bit, I want to figure myself out. Do come back, though. You’re the only one I truly need in my life right now. Before you go, tell me if you could choose your last words you ever said to me, what would they be? “This isn’t the end.” You say and walk away.