As humans, emotions unfold endlessly each day. They cannot be catehorized into a handful of categories. They are layered and contradictory beautiful and ugly, calm and chaotic.
Those who experience this full spectrum are quietly fortunate, able to feel what many never recognize.
She feels the anxiety of being left alone while, at the same time, anticipating the peace that solitude may eventually bring.
She experiences the strange satisfaction of letting go, coupled with a restless hope for a miracle both existing within the same breath.
There is a certain happiness she finds in being selfish enough to protect her heart, even when that protection is misunderstood as coldness.
Someone once told her that she operates at a level so low that she is afraid to face real emotions. That she always needs a safety net. That she would never truly immerse herself in what she feels.
No, she doesn’t.
She doesn’t operate at a shallow level. She operates at a depth so profound it appears distant to those who have never explored their own.
What looks like avoidance is awareness. What seems like restraint is survival.
Her existence is a culmination of every emotion she experiences, and this is what keeps her alive.
Her existence is a culmination of every emotion she experiences, and this is what keeps her alive.
Sadness, happiness, excitement, restlessness, anxiety, contentment, bliss, anger none of these stand alone. Together, they define her.
She tries not to attach her identity to her emotions, yet she cannot deny that her existence reflects them.
She tries not to attach her identity to her emotions, yet she cannot deny that her existence reflects them.
She is not governed by what she feels, but she is undeniably shaped by it.
And perhaps this quiet understanding is her truest form of selfish self-love.
And perhaps this quiet understanding is her truest form of selfish self-love.
