I’m dead inside. Or so I tell myself after that disastrous episode three years ago. I was essentially rejected, with my love thrown back at me, without so much as an acknowledgement of my feelings.
But I never spoke about it with anyone. Didn’t even acknowledge the pain of rejection, the despair, the disappointment, the hurt, the sudden realization that it was all over, just like that. Because you see, it’s not “cool” to talk about feelings anymore. It’s not “cool” to acknowledge that what happened was actually really painful. That it sucked, big time. That it made me sad, incredibly so. Despite it being a relatively short relationship, the hurt was no less painful.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
Maybe I was afraid of letting my guard down, to show my vulnerable side to anyone, even my loved ones.
Maybe I was afraid of being my true self, the part of me that hurt so much, that I wanted to end it all.
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Maybe I was afraid to let someone see the cracks and bruises I hid, fearing rejection again, or worse, chastisement for my pain.
Maybe I was afraid to feel alive again, in all its crushing glory, for fear of it being taken away.
When I say I’m dead inside, I’m actually saying that I’m scared. That what I went through was so hurtful, that I’ve decided that I’m better off being ensconced in my walls.
That it’s not worth it to let my guard down with anyone, for fear of being kicked when I’m down.
That it’s safer for me to hide behind my mask of cool composure that I show the world.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
That I don’t see the point of making myself vulnerable with anyone, because I don’t want to experience that hurt again.
That I don’t want to acknowledge that I let one incident cow me down so much that I’m slowing dying inside.
That I maybe using what happened as an excuse to shut everyone and everything out of my life because secretly, a part of me thinks that I don’t deserve love. That I may not be worthy of love. That it may be impossible for someone to even love me.
That I maybe so bad that I’m better off not being a part of anyone’s life.
But you know what, this feeling of being dead inside isn’t going to give me anything. Being hurt, afraid, humiliated – are all normal parts of being human. I am not an automaton to not feel anything that happens to me or around me. I am not dead inside. I am layered and complex and complicated and it’s okay to feel and experience a myriad of emotions and feelings.
It’s okay to feel dumb. It’s okay to look dumb.
It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to be humiliated. It’s okay to be disappointed.
It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be overwhelmed.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
It’s okay to get your hopes up. It’s okay to see those hopes crumple like a piece of paper in a crushed fist.
It’s okay to feel pain. It’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to feel. It’s okay.
I don’t want to be dead inside. I want to acknowledge my pain – to myself and to my loved ones.
I want to feel things, be it good or bad.
I want to not hide behind my walls.
I want to break free of the shackles I’ve put on myself.
I want to let people in to my life.
I want to be full of hope for better things that might be just around the corner.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
I want to work on being the best version of myself I could ever be.
I want to laugh again, that full belly laugh, that is so cathartic, there are tears streaming down my face.
I want to experience new things, visit new places, soak in all that the world has to offer.
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I want to love again, even if it’s unrequited.
I want to give myself wholly to another person, in the hopes that he would do the same for me.
I want to live life again. Really LIVE.
You see, I’m not dead inside, and I want to prove it to the world with every word and every action of mine.
Featured image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
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