Sometimes we seek empathy from our peers and expose our scars to acquire their understanding; but we do not do so confidently. Before I confess any of my secrets, an emotional warfare arises inside me against my logical half. When the battle is over, I confess with extreme trepidation.
Today such an event occurred; of course sympathy isn’t always the earned prize. Instead, berating’s on my character that was created to satisfy their stereotype of “me” occurred.
There is a reason why I don’t always confess what I’m thinking with words; reasons why I stop and stutter mid-sentence instead rushing forward with reckless abandonment. I stop because if I always said what I thought when I felt it, more people would feel like me. I would have to be the ignorantly sanguine person you assume I am to not feel the morose opinions you have of me.
I’m willing to write my thoughts because I’m allotted time to create sense of my emotions (ironic since I’ve been considered to be emotionally void). This sounds like self-pity but it’s merely an observation; if you’re feeling attacked perhaps its suppressed guilt you’re refraining from acknowledging.
Everyone has their own opinions of "me", or at least the adjusted self that was developed to fit into their environments provided for me.
If you think little of me, then know you’re belittling the "me" you created since you were too adamant in your judgments to to know the "me" that exists.