A Bed of Thoughts

Once in a while, I enter a melancholic exploration of my inner world— I have to tussle with my fears, desires, resilience, and the contradictions that make me human.

This is what a moment of catharsis feels like…

…the complexity of being someone who feels deeply yet bears those feelings privately.

I hope I do not regret this…

…

Okay…there is a burden that comes with a sensitive heart. I do not know how to explain it, but it’s a paradox. It’s strong, cold as ice on the outside, but inside, there is a searing heat that defies explanation.

That’s me—always.

As I move through life, unable to explain or fully understand myself, I find it easier to withdraw—not out of fear or harm, but because not everyone deserves my magic. If you can’t see it, cherish it, or meet it with the reverence it demands, you are not worthy.

So I zero you out of my mind and move on.

It makes me a bad communicator and a big feeler. What an annoying thing to be.

The emotions and thoughts in my head are so overwhelming, I never bother to say anything because I can’t.

Life feels heavy, yet I don’t complain about the weight.

I carry it well. But each new load threatens my balance, especially when it’s one I can’t adjust to. That’s when I crumble.

One of those burdens is love.
Another is the longing to be understood.
And then there’s this unshakable sense of right and wrong. It is the heaviest of them all.

Empathy has saved a lot of people from me…
But my sense of justice? That has made me lose many.

I can’t let things go when I know wrong is wrong and right is right. I have this unshakeable belief that people know what they are doing…they just hope you believe that they don’t believe they don’t know what they’ve done…It’s easy for me to burn bridges. I don’t even know how to swim, but I’ll torch the bridge and figure it out along the way—sink or swim, I’m making it. Do I wish the journey weren’t so painstaking? Absolutely. But I’ll survive it, even if I don’t want to.

Some call it a trauma response. I’ve become so used to being within myself that I’ve learned not to need anyone. And yet, I do. I crave to be wanted, adored, cherished, pursued. I need to feel safe enough to need someone—safe enough to know that if I place my longing in their hands, they’ll nurture it, protect it, and give it what it needs.

I long for someone who can conquer the walls I’ve built—not just break them but climb them with intention, understand the battle scars, and love me fiercely through it all. That kind of love, I hope, exists. But I’m afraid it doesn’t. Too many have found me “too much,” withdrawn, or dimmed my light. Some have used me as a placeholder.

I don’t give myself easily. When I do, it comes with a battle—because my heart, mind, and soul have their own fierce protectors. I hear them tussling once someone tries…lol…They’re the soldiers I’ve built over the years to keep me whole. They don’t trust easily, and they’re always ready for war. If you want my love, you’ll have to convince them to lay down their arms.

So it’s not easy.

When I think of love, I feel sorry for whoever dares to love me. They’ll have to face these thoughts, these guards, these fortresses. But that’s how I know they’re worthy—because they see me. They know me. They understand.

I live surrounded but alone. People see the shiny exterior, but they don’t see the little girl inside, begging to be loved and held. I’ve always been looked up to, always been expected to be, and yet, I feel boxed in at times. Misunderstood. I gravitate toward the curious, the ones who want to know me because they’re the ones who might just see me.

I feel imperfect. Wounded. And because I hide the wounds, people think I’m okay.

All I’ve ever wanted is peace—a place to rest my head, let out a sigh and feel at home. A place where I don’t have to explain myself. I hate explaining. I hate talking. I hate having to tell people what they’ve done to hurt me.

So I live. And I wait.

I am safe with myself, and yet, I long for connection. I clawed my way out of the last hole of loneliness—I can’t go back. I won’t. The world expects so much from me, but I have to protect what’s left of me. I can’t allow things to erode who I am anymore.

Right now, I have to build my walls higher and close them tighter. Not because I don’t want love or connection, but because I need to protect the flames of my becoming.

Sacrifices have to be made in certain seasons, and this is one of them.

This is a sad letter, but it’s necessary.

I know my capacity to love. All I’ve ever wanted is for someone to meet me with the same.

Until then, I’ll keep moving. Keep rebuilding.

I’m sleepy, so goodnight.

Someday, I hope I’ll understand why I hold these many complexities…

But until then…I’ll enjoy exploring the many contradictions of Tutu

It’s still a fun ride…

Or at the very least a great story…

That was a lot to write.