(Emo)tional Confessional

I used to feel so small and fragile in this world. I felt as if I didn’t have a voice, and every single insult felt like salt to my wounds. I was easily brought to tears, which served as either amusement, or annoyance to others. I loathed it.

I just couldn’t quite understand why everything felt so heavy, so important, and though I desperately wanted to stop caring, I couldn’t. I cared about what others thought of me. Everyone had an opinion to share, so I altered my behaviour accordingly, but despite my efforts, I could not escape myself. Regardless of how hard I tried, I still cried over nothing and believed everything. I was the classic cry baby.

Then came high school, which made everything worse. This was basically where everyone felt the need to share their unsolicited opinions and advice, and I could no longer keep up. I couldn’t please anyone, so I did what I thought was best. I did nothing. I barely spoke and barely changed my expression. I was just…blank.

Of course, this only made me more of a target, and I earned my very own label: emo, and I didn’t need the makeup to prove it. People always felt the need to share their opinion of me, though I never asked. I just couldn’t handle it anymore, so instead of getting sad, I got mad. I was moody, to say the least. I hated everyone, or was convinced that I did. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but at the same time, I did. I didn’t wanted to see anyone, but at the same time, I did. I just wanted to be alone, but at the same time, I didn’t. I felt lost.

It’s been a year now, and I’ve never been better. Since I left high school, I’ve been able to gain some perspective. I’m not going to lie and say I’m the most confident person in the world, but I definitely am not the same girl I was a year ago.

Slowly, I’m learning that opinions are just that; opinions, and somehow people don’t seem to be the”big bad wolves,” I once perceived them to be. They are just people, who have different thoughts and opinions, just as I do. Slowly, I’m learning that I’m not as weak as I think I am. Slowly, I’m realizing that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, that my body is an artwork, uniquely designed for and assigned to my soul.

With this growth, I’ve come to conclusion that I can’t please everyone, and that regardless of how hard I tried to change, that sensitive little girl will always be apart of me. And you know what? I’m grateful now, because if it wasn’t for that little girl, I wouldn’t have become the person I am today, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

*There’s a lot more to this story, but somehow, I find it so difficult to tell the whole truth. However, I’m happy that I’m at least sharing this because I don’t feel it should be a secret anymore, as tucking it away only makes it seem bigger than it really is.

 

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