To Be Me Is To Be Too Much.

My daughter closed the trunk of the car today. I didn’t know she was back there and I wasn’t expecting it. It’s a loud trunk to begin with and without expecting or preparing for it my response was comically exaggerated.

I jumped out of my skin. I threw my phone. My heart started racing.

I had enough time to laugh and tell her she scared me before I started to lose my shit.

It’s important to note that I tried very hard to stay in the giggle zone. I know how I respond to adrenaline and the complete panic that tends to accompany it. I reminded myself that I wasn’t in any danger but the tears came just the same.

They literally always do.

I am along for the ride.

Goodness I am tired of being so much.

I want to shut up and I just fucking can’t. I want to have the ability to converse calmly about difficult subjects. I want to observe and examine my emotions without becoming them.

It just doesn’t seem to work like that for me.

If someone hurts me they’re going to know. It’s not something I can pause and come back to, a physiological response has occurred before I even understand what I’m feeling. My stomach flips, my palms sweat, my mouth gets dry and then I usually either run away or fly off the handle.

I don’t do anything small.

I would tell myself that I was going to be calmer this time. I’d have something to discuss or I’d have found something I was feeling insecure about and I would swear this time I would remain calm.

He’d walk in the door, ask me how I was and I would launch into my insanity instantaneously. My well thought out approach was replaced by hurt feelings, accusations and generally explosive vibes.

Losing my shit is never my plan.

I cringe every time I hear another form of, “you’re too much”.

God, don’t I know it.

I don’t know what to tell you.

You think I’m hard to talk to because I quite often am. Imagine being me and never ever getting a break from me.

Oh, you’re overwhelmed? Try an hour inside this and see what level of overwhelm comes along with my neverending narrative

It’s not shocking to me when my emotions are too big for the comfort of others. It’s not surprising when I do and say things differently from others. I will be the first to admit that my big emotional outbursts are fucking annoying and I’d like to be much closer to a robot than I am.

These things about me aren’t news to me. It’s not odd for a person to find me intense.

It’s not a profound revelation when you say I’m too much.

I’m too much for me, too.