My siblings are suffering in silence. I respect that, truly I do. I hope they respect that I'm not.
I have never suffered in silence.
In fact, I suffered so loudly that I was sent to my room frequently because of it.
Don't hate the squeaky wheel. It's not just a show or an exaggeration; we really do hurt that much and we really do require that much grease. I've been told how annoying this is. Requests to stop or ease up on the sensitivity was/is met with confusion.
Try asking yellow to kindly stop being that colour.
My brain is screwy with it's analogies and metaphors today, my committed reader.
I just wanted to say that maybe if I hadn't been sent to my room when I cried, that my emotions wouldn't be so confusing.
All they needed to do was acknowledge my sadness.
It shouldn't have mattered if it was spilled milk or if my cat just died. As a child, I was (and still am) entitled to my feelings. To a child....to me (to all children) that sadness was necessary to feel, it was necessary to express. It needed to identified at the very least.
And now I'm 36 and still bitter. Well, not right this minute. Right this minute I'm sad.
Ya know, like I mentioned in my Facebook status, I'm soft and squishy. I'm fluffy and colourful. Think pink hearts, rainbows, and Hello Kitty. Picture daisies and hot pink hair ribbons. That's me.
Now, I've met some hard people in my life. Some people that weren't penetrable. And ya know what my soft squishy personality does to those hard asses? It softens them just enough that they feel good. Next thing you know, little heart bubbles are creeping into their soul and making them smile. They really can't help it, ya know.
I have either that affect on the hard asses, or one of annoyance. I'm hurt by those but I'm sensitive, so that's ok.
Welp, guess I'll sort out more feelings later. Thanks for humouring me.
♥
