The thing about me is...

Saturday, November 4, 2017

I don't talk much.
In my head there are not many things somebody would really want to listen. You can find there endless essays about me, missing people I don't even talk to or my silly poems, I write when I'm sad. I ask people how are they. With honesty and interest. But I don't do small talk. That's why I seem cold and rude.
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.
I can't talk about cooking or doing laundry for hours.. I can't talk about kids I don't have, I can't talk about the boyfriend I've once had.
Sometimes I wish I could.
Mom says it'd make me happier. Would it?
I don't even cook. Every time I'm asked, I tell the truth and then the judgement comes. It falls on me, like the hammer of Thor.
"You're a woman, you should cook."
And you should mind your own business. Cause I didn't even asked for countless stories about your grandma's cat.
I'm still looking for someone who understand when I'm silent.

Would you like me when I’m silent?
My anxiety is really hardcore lately. I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart racing, my hands shaking. I can’t really explain why, honestly - there’s a lot happening in my life now, new job is a total madness. I mean, not in a bad way, in a good way, I’ve just never done something like this. It’s a huge corporation and now I’m a part of it.
As you could see in my previous, impulsive post in here - and THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the support - I keep feeling insecure about my skills and about my ability to exist between this huge amount of people. I try to make everyone like me enough so I can keep my job for longer. I know I can’t do it. And I know it’s not about that.
But I’m still in this wild rush of experiencing new things and I barely handle this.
Thank you for being here. It’s my safe place.


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