Been a sec.

I feel everything. Constantly, all of the time.

People think I lack empathy though. It genuinely shocks me when someone says I’m a caring person.

I am, don’t get me wrong, I just tend not to show it.

See, if you show the wrong person that you care, they take advantage of it. My family does, friends, ex’s. God, even my bosses.

I don’t say anything, I know I should. I know that but I’m not good for much else.

I can’t watch you cry, I never know what to say. But I’ll listen, I’ll care. Small acts of service, things to brighten your day. Someone to motivate, to encourage you. Someone to sit through the *** with you. I’m that guy.

I’m the one who holds your hand and never let’s go.

I may not show it, but I feel all of the time. I care all of the time.

If you wear your heart on your sleeve, people can see the damage. They can see the cracks in the foundation.

Now, I have scars that are the cracks in my foundation but they’re always hidden under layers of clothing or ‘proudly’ displayed like battle wounds.

But the cracks run deeper, they break apart my soul, my spirit. I’m just a charade, a person that’s desired, a mask on top of a hundred of other masks. Inside I’m just shards of who I used to be. Who I want to be.

But people can’t see that. They see the constant, bright smile. They see the vibrant hair, hear the constant jokes and laughter. They don’t see what’s underneath.

I never understood people who lets everyone see.

My pain is mine, I’m broken, a lost soul. Without a persona, I don’t know what i’d do.

I’m scared. Scared that the persona won’t be enough because if it breaks? I’m not enough. I’m not right.

I can’t fix that. A chip in a mask, I can fix. I can’t fix me.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m dramatic, I’m not giving myself enough credit. I’ve heard it.

I’ve met hundreds of people. I’ve dated a dozen people, I’ve been friends with more people than that. I used to be social, used to be around everywhere. But then people knew me. Me.

They leave. Tell me I’m too much, that I’m wrong, that I’m not normal, not okay. I get it.

I’ve always felt wrong. Ever since I was little, I knew I wasn’t right. I’d go days feeling nothing, I went through a fair few traumatic events feeling nothing.

I remember being 11, in the back of an ambulance, dying. Telling my mum that I’m okay. That I’m fine because I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t scared of dying, I never have been.

Something is fundamentally broken inside of me.

I can’t change that.

Have a good night/day