Tell Me I Am Not

My friend reached out to you to ask if I was okay. You had no idea where she got the idea I would not be. You had no clue what the ask was in reference to or why the thought would ever occur to reach out to you. The idea that reaching out to you meant something. Something other than someone giving you attention. That you were not the root cause of the conversation, the reason to start the conversation. This is the smallest of infractions you have committed against me, yet it is sticking in my mind with industrial strength velcro. You were eager to share your response to them was something akin to a nonchalant “of course she’s fine.” You chose to follow this with an unsurprising and unprovoked inclusion of yourself, and how what may have somehow convinced her to possibly think I was not okay was due to something you were also *not* experiencing along with me. The automatic action of bringing yourself into something that started with me. As if it was even in the realm of possibility that we shared the same experience, the same life event, the same emotion. As if you would discern if I had experienced something other. We did not live the same reality. We never would.

But that was alright, I made that decision long, long ago.

Brushing the question off like you knew me was not alright. My close friend reaching out to you set off a light bulb, not an alarm. I did not expect it to. You sharing this with me is what struck me. Unfortunately, I have a great memory and historically, it has had a sharper focus on negatives.

The more I pryed at the velcro, I came to understand the catalyst behind the need to rip it off as quickly as possible. I hate that she reached out to you. That you would ever be a thought. A thought to her, to anyone I know. That you would ever know how I was feeling at any given time. That you could possibly know me, know who I am. It was a swift sting once my acrylics finally freed this revelation from my mind. I winced and could not conceal it.

Perhaps I did not want to conceal it. Though, I know this action shows just how concerned my friend was. How concerned you should have been if we were stationed in another dimension.

You will never know how I feel, know who I am, or experiences I have. Please understand this is me being direct. I am stating a fact; devoid of emotion on this particular truth. It is just what is true. I could tell you this twenty or two hundred times over, and you would still not believe it. However, it is the only reality. The way you cannot understand this, are unaware of this…

How would you feel if you could see this from outside of yourself? A friend inquiring about my well-being never sparked the slightest doubt. As someone who does not expect any other reaction, I do have to admit I find it slightly fascinating. How could I not? I wrote this nonsensical piece of thought, of course it fascinates me.

I do not mind it much myself, truly. I do worry about me doing the same to others. Will I inherit this behavior, this carelessness, this ignorance? How do I spot the signs and stop myself dead in my tracks? Is my pride enabling the symptoms’ dormancy? Could I live in the dark with this lurking so long that eventually I exhibit the same behavior with my future children? Will they withdraw to protect their personhood, their identity like I did as a child? Will I grow ashamed and recognize what I am doing before it is too late? Am I capable of this is what I am begging someone to solve for me.

Am I?