Feelings, Emotions, and All That Gross Stuff


It’s no surprise to anyone who knows me that I have trouble expressing how I truly feel. I’m your girl if you need an opinion on an outfit, job, school, real life advice, but relationships and love? Steer clear. However, I think my friends who come to me for relationship or love advice do so because they know I’ll be real with them and I’m not full of sunshine and rainbows and daisies. I know life can suck sometimes and you have to just roll with those punches. But still, I’m not the one who has Pinterest boards full of wedding ideas, I’m not the one who has planned her wedding since she was a little girl, I never pictured, really pictured, myself walking down the aisle, hell, I never pretended to do so when I was a little girl. Maybe this speaks to more about the type of individual I am and grew up as, but I think it also matters. Feelings, emotions, love, not for me.

Something else important to note is that I am an English Literature student. I read the old romance novels, I’ve swooned over Mr. Darcy. (Side note: Romeo & Juliet is NOT, NOTNOT romantic, it’s a tragedy) Love is great, I love reading about love, words make love sound real, not picture perfect real, but real. In real life, I’m that annoying friend who pretends to vomit when cutesy relationship/love things happen. I’m obnoxious, no need to remind me.

Love to me isn’t fireworks, magic, roses, and fucking glitter all the time. Maybe I see it in more of a platonic way. It’s about finding someone who’s actually your best friend. No, I don’t mean best friend in the cliché way. I mean someone who is there for intelligent conversations, who isn’t afraid to challenge your beliefs, someone you can be there for you, but also knows how to be there for themselves. Yes, romance is an important part of relationships, but so is just being able to get along.

I’m not sure where my inability to express my feelings came from, or maybe I do and I just don’t know how to put it into words. But what I do know is that I’m so wishy washy with my feelings, I never know what’s what. To quote a friend, I’ve been chewed up, spit out and done it all over again, but I’m still standing here. Perhaps I’m a cynic, but I prefer realist. To figure out my feelings, it usually takes a lot of overthinking on my part but it really comes down to one thing. My writing. It’s not necessarily difficult for me to write about someone, especially my feelings about someone, but it’s not necessarily easy either. The words that flow out of my head are a stream of consciousness at times. They’re raw and real. I’ve written some terrible things, literally terrible but also terrible things about a person, and I’ve written some things that made me realize the feelings that I had. Both times were shocking to say that least. In moments of doubt, my words are there.

Feelings aren’t meant to be thrown around. I don’t give out my feelings voluntarily. I don’t give out my feelings easily. It takes so much. So much than some may realize, but it’s difficult for me to feel, and even more difficult to tell someone how I feel. As I get older and as I continue to build up that wall, I find myself sharing less and less of myself. I’ve grown to be so guarded, but still so open in a way. I’m not afraid of showing who I am. I’m proud of who I am. What I am afraid of is letting people really get to know me because I’ve lost so many that I thought knew me. That’s the part about growing up that no one tells you about. You’ll let people into your life that you think are important and value you as important, but just as they easily walked into your life, they can walk out just as fast. Shoutout to Facebook’s “On This Day” feature to always remind me of those people. Half-joking, half-not.

What I’m trying to get to in this post is that feelings and emotions are a daily struggle for me, and probably others too. Maybe I’m just complicated or something happened in my past (therapy down the road will probably tell me), but I’m ok with being complicated. I’m ok with not giving my heart away to every person that walks through my door. I’m ok with being choosy. I’m ok with not going with my first thought, feeling, or idea. All of these things make up who I am as a person. Maybe I’m guarded, but that’s they way I choose to live. I’m confusing, but maybe one day I’ll meet someone who understands me when even I cannot (*barf*).


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