An Empty Husk of Being
When did i become this person?? I used to think of myself as giving and selfless, the person who would always be there to listen to anyone elses problems. I would rather see other people happy, because their happiness made me happy anyway. I liked to help people and understand them; I even liked that sometimes I remained less understood because of it. It was something I was willing to sacrifice to be there for people. I was logical when it was useful, and emotional when appropriate. Even sometimes when it was unnecessary. I used to cry so often, and now it seems that only fiction and escapist movies can bring that out of me. Sometimes not even those.
Some where along the way I've changed, and I dont know when or why. Ive become caustic and self-centered. I keep people at arms length, even those who have known me for ages. I dont like touching or being touched, to the point where I am not physically affectionate to people I love. I fear love, but I cannot decide if I fear other's love or my own more. I am terrible at keeping in touch, even to those who I used to or who would really appreciate it. I doubt the validity of compliments handed to me by people closest to me, and either argue about it or dance around the subject. I am so out of touch with my own emotions that I have not accepted this change til now. My ex-boyfriend knows me better than I myself do. People exhaust me sometimes more than they make me happy. I spend more and more time alone by choice, and care less and less about the occasional infrequency of social invitations. I am tactless, sarcastic and prickly. In short, I am not the rose you smell but the thorn that bleeds. I am the cactus but not the flower. The coconut without milk. The psychologist without emotional intelligence. The writer without poetry.
Some where along the way I've changed, and I dont know when or why. Ive become caustic and self-centered. I keep people at arms length, even those who have known me for ages. I dont like touching or being touched, to the point where I am not physically affectionate to people I love. I fear love, but I cannot decide if I fear other's love or my own more. I am terrible at keeping in touch, even to those who I used to or who would really appreciate it. I doubt the validity of compliments handed to me by people closest to me, and either argue about it or dance around the subject. I am so out of touch with my own emotions that I have not accepted this change til now. My ex-boyfriend knows me better than I myself do. People exhaust me sometimes more than they make me happy. I spend more and more time alone by choice, and care less and less about the occasional infrequency of social invitations. I am tactless, sarcastic and prickly. In short, I am not the rose you smell but the thorn that bleeds. I am the cactus but not the flower. The coconut without milk. The psychologist without emotional intelligence. The writer without poetry.