I'm always the one who cares more

It's not a competition but I always win

Just to be clear, I’m not whining- it’s just the truth of the matter.

It’s one that I’ve known for a long time, but one I wish I could change regardless.

It’s eleven minutes past midnight, and I have been so lonely today that it’s felt like sinking into the doom and depths of a wild river and forgetting how to swim. It doesn’t matter how much I thrash or gasp for air, the water will pull me under and batter my body between the rocks.

In a very rare turn of events, I’m writing this from my phone, and this is as close to raw and unedited as things will get from me. I’ve been staring at the wall for twenty minutes as my hair dries in waves by the heater, my eyes have made shapes from shadows in the light.

I could stare all night, but it won’t do much for me. So here I am, writing on my phone. Which feels illegal, if you ask me.

Here’s an annoying trait I have: I will openly admit I’m in a pit, but I will always promise that “I’m fine really”, “Just had a really long day” or “I will survive”. I always spin the truth in sugar. The people pleasing part of my nature betrays me at this moment, because this is when I’m begging to be heard. I don’t want to ask so I accidentally trick them with honeyed words and small smiles. Still, people take it at face value. I learned how to make it sincere when I was a child who was afraid of upsetting my elders, and people have never doubted it since. I’ve never been able to lie, but I have been able to mask my pain.

I sometimes do a really good job at masking, but when I get quiet is when you should take notice.

The quiet is never a good sign of things to come.

I always notice the lost pauses and seconds of silent hauntings in others, but they rarely notice it with me. Which quite frankly is bizarre to me, because I am generally noisy, chatting and laughing in all ways that make me completely unappealing sometimes. I have never been particularly reticent, to my knowledge.

For most of my life, I’ve had a terrible habit of giving my everything to people I love.

I love you, do you need something to eat? I love you, don’t tell me you’re okay when you’re not. Maybe you need be to be quiet, I love you. Here’s some water. I love you, let me kiss it better.

I don’t even question it at the time, I just want them to feel seen and secure.

Because it’s all I would want, too. Anxious girls are really good at making other people feel safe, even when they don’t feel it themselves.

Being truly known is the rarest thing in this wretched world. So few of us let people actually perceive us, and fewer look hard enough to see who people really are - rather than who we want them to be. There are so many secrets beneath surfaces, so much more than skin if you train your eyes to look right through it.

I don’t mean to be negative, but here is the truth- we’re terrible at being known, and sometimes worse at knowing others. The latter seems to come easily to me though, and I’ve always been grateful for that. It feels like a useful skill, like I could answer any trivia question about my loved ones if I was held at gunpoint.

Anticipating emotional needs and hunger pains, I know what someone else needs before they do. If they’re low on sugar, I have a Twirl in my bag. If I sense a bad day, I might send something their way, just because. If someone’s too busy to take care of themselves, I know how they take their coffee. Maybe they need some air, I’ll go with them. Or maybe not, if I sense they need to remove themselves from the world for a few minutes. Sometimes people want to drift away.

Some people would say it’s maternal, but I just say it’s love. That’s all.

People throw around the word ‘empath’ like it’s confetti, as if the more they say it the more they can hold onto the idea of being one. Most people who are naturally in tune with others would wish it away in a heartbeat. It’s hard enough dealing with your own feelings, without adding someone else's mess into the equation.

It’s sometimes a blessing and a curse, because not everyone feels the same way we do. And if they do, they don’t always know what to do with the information they’re getting from us. Sometimes they can’t translate our behaviour, and who can blame them?

Some of us immediately pick up on shifts in tone, quick cuts in language that make a person sound abrupt when they talk to us, and the endless pauses that seem to slice through us like steel. These are short, fleeting silences but to someone like me, it’s a cavernous hush.

There are only a few people I can be comfortably silent with and know they’re not mad at me.

I’ve often wondered if anyone’s even noticed when words sound different as they curl out of my mouth at a lower decibel than usual. Did they even notice when I abandoned my phone for six hours?

No, because it’s not all about me. I get that, I really do.

To be honest, this is probably all on me.

This is my fault, but I am always the one seeing everyone else and then expecting to be seen in return. It always knocks me down a peg or two when it doesn’t happen.

Whatever it is about me that causes this, I need to work on it.

I’d like someone to know what I need for a change. It would be nice if I didn’t have to think about asking, because I’m far too proud to do so and sometimes I might not know what I need. I’m not a perfect person and I can be immature about certain things, like expecting you to pick up on things you haven’t been trained to look for. Can’t you just know who I am, the same way I know you?

Reading moods and minds is second nature to me. If I watch your hands and tiny signs, I can feel a mood radiate from your skin. Picking up on disconnected stares, or twirling with chains and locks of hair, I remind myself how lucky I am for someone to show themselves to me even when they don’t mean to do it.

I always show up for them, but sometimes I feel like no one shows up for me. Didn’t they see the signals and hear my sirens? Where are they?

When I feel like this, I pull back. I’ll change the locks and push you out. Sorry, evicted until further notice. A change of heart is always a surprise, but it shouldn’t be. I’ve felt alone like this before.

All you had to do was show up.

People don’t tend to notice my moods until they’re extreme, either I’m way better at masking than I give myself credit for, or they don’t look at me hard enough to pay attention.

In my thirties, this has only gotten harder as friends and twin flames become more precious and love becomes so breakable. These flames are fickle and fragile like matchsticks, and I work hard to keep us warm. I protect us like baby birds in winter, taking it upon myself to stop us from freezing to death.

Right, the thing is that no one asked me to do it and I do it entirely of my own free will. And I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that it’s my own fault for giving so much of myself for free, or that other people haven’t ever thought to do the same.

Why is it so hard to be considered?

There’s plenty of blame to go around, but I fear it’s mostly on me.

Maybe my standards are just too high, because people have different ways of showing they care and neither way is right or wrong. I seem to exhibit all the major love languages, and then get irritated when I can barely squeeze one out of someone else.

Years of violence gave me careful hands and silent treatment made me listen to gaps and silences, so it isn’t hard for me to see someone for who they are or give them what they need.

Time ticks on, as it does. I glance at my phone and it’s almost 1.30am. Minutes bleed out slowly and I add this hour to the amount of time I’ve been lost by myself. How long have I been thrashing and fighting in this fucking figurative river I’ve been sinking into all day? How long does it take for someone to notice silence, desperation or cardiac arrest?

Guys, I’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for the fact that the latter is purely metaphorical.

Here’s the problem. I am capable. I am self sufficient, I have never met a problem I cannot solve or trouble I can’t scheme my way out of.

The problem with capable people is that everyone else assumes you’ll figure it out. They trust you, because why wouldn’t they? You’ll find your way, you always do. You’re so silly, you’ve gone through worse after all. You’ll fix it, because you’re you and because you’ve never not fixed yourself before.

People assume you’ve “got it” and then forget.

Eventually I retreat because it’s safer for me to temporarily abandon people when I love them, it’s easier for me to punish myself with the ache of loneliness than to feel the sting of the forgetting.

So I isolate. I sit and I stew.

I don’t really want to be left here alone, do you know where I can find a ride home?

Clawing my way through the miles of dirt and dust, my feet force themselves in front of the other when I try to find my way home.

That’s the thing about being called capable, I won’t hold it against you because this really is my problem to solve. I’ll forget that you forgot me, and will wait for you to notice me. I’ll always find my way back, even when you didn’t even notice I’d gone.

I found my way home, all you had to do was show up. Where did you go?