“Yvette, you can’t go through life being so sensitive.”
My dad’s words still haunt me today. I hear his voice right through the other voices in my head. They throw insults at me. Word after word they cut, like daggers into my flesh
I’m sure he never imagined having a daughter like me- sensitive and broken on the inside.
Today was one of those days where I woke up just fine but crumbled when my computer refused to connect to the Internet. Just like that, my mood spiraled downwards into an abyss. This is not the first time that this has happened. A month ago I dropped a cellphone my mother gave to me while helping a fellow soccer mom.the screen was crushed and so was I. I couldn’t explain why suddenly everything went dark inside. I had to put up a front because that’s what I do. All I wanted was a corner to cram myself into and cry the day away. Maybe my meds can’t hold me to together when I need to fall apart?
If I had to explain this strange phenomenon, I would describe myself as being born inside out. So my sensitive bits are on the outside- lungs, pancreas and my heart dangle from my body. I have no protective layer like one’s skin to protect me from attacks or even normal day to day life. I’m sensitive to daylight. I’m sensitive to a scrape on the knee. I’m sensitive to words. My boyfriends used to say I over analyze everything. I do. I need to know what I internalize because there are bitter days like these where I internalize everything.
A good question to ask at this point is, am I not weak? My dad threw that dagger too. Being sensitive is equated to being weak. Over years of believing this I can safely argue that this is not true. I’m sensitive but so sensitive that I can feel for someone else. One of my strengths in my career and university life was that I could empathize and sometimes even carry others’ burdens. I could think for others. I turned my sensitivity into a strength, not because I was forced to- but because seeking possibilities to help people and my love for understanding people was part of my sensitivity package. It just took my a few years to find out that I do have magic. I do have power.
I’m sure my dad still doesn’t completely understand my anxiety or my disorder, never mind the sensitivity, but he now knows that’s it is part of the Yvette package: and he loves me for it.
So today, in this coffee shop I will cry while I eat my lemon meringue. But tomorrow will be better, bloody heart and all.
I’ll post some advice on how to deal with sensitivity.