Maybe This Is How It Feels

The hairs on my arms stand on and when it comes into view, and my breath catches somewhere in my throat. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, looking forward to it, and now, I’m finally here. A breeze hits me as I walk through the gates. The wind washing over me carries more than just cool relief from the warm sunny day. There’s also an air of…. something. Some kind of feeling I can’t quite put my finger on the name of, but a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever felt or experienced before. 

I close my eyes, trying to take it all in one bit at a time. To savour and relish in it. I can’t quite believe it. It feels so surreal. Like I’m existing in some kind of waking dream in place of reality. Like I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s like… ecstasy. The feeling, not the drug. I haven’t ever experienced the drug, and I don’t plan to. But I imagine this is how it might feel. Maybe they named the drug after the feeling. This feeling. 

Not one of the many people around has said anything to me, exactly. Not explicitly. But there's this understanding. This inherent knowing, that it's ok. That I'm ok. Because everyone is ok. Around me, everyone is just themselves. Without explanation, without justification, without apology. Because there's no need for any of that. Just as it should be. I can't help sighing. I wish it could always be like this. Just for today, how it is. 

Maybe that's what it is, this feeling. I didn't notice it until it was gone, because it's always been there, my whole life. This huge weight. Like I have to fit into a mould there's no way I possibly can do without contorting myself like a circus performer. Like I have to wear a suffocating mask 24/7, straining for air. But suddenly, all of that huge weight is gone. 

Maybe this is how it feels to breathe without restriction. To move without restraint. Maybe this is how it feels to not be carrying weight of pressure and stress to conform around all the time. Maybe this is how it feels when you are allowed to really, truly just be. Maybe this is how it feels to be free. 

Being Human

 I walk through the world on tiptoe, trying to dodge the invisible landmines people think I'm crazy for believing are there. But they are. It only takes stepping on one to cause you to shift into high alert. And I've done it more than once. Having been so careful for so long, longer than I care to remember, I start to relax. But prematurely, it would seem, because then I manage to stumble on to another landmine that results in an explosion. 

In the wake of the explosion, other people stare back at me, as if to say "well, what did you expect?" As if I should have seen it coming. With the amount of explosions I've been through, you'd think I would have learnt to see it coming by now. But I never do see it coming. It always takes me by surprise. Because the thing that other people don't understand is, I'm not like them, and no matter how hard I try, I never will be. I am my own kind of human. One that struggles to understand the other humans I coexist with in the world. The other humans seem to operate by a separate manual they haven't given me a copy of. 

There are warnings of the explosion, they tell me. There are signs alerting to the presence of a landmine nearby. But not any that I see. Not any that I hear. For me, it always seems to come out of nowhere. Maybe these elusive 'warnings' are in a whole other language that I don't speak, and that's why I don't understand. I don't know. There's a lot that I don't know. 

What I do know is that I'm my own kind of human. But being my own kind of human... being human full stop, is tiring. It's too tiring, and it's too hard for me to be. I wish I could be their kind of human, who speaks the language, who knows how to avoid the landmines and who understands. I've tried. I do try. But it's so hard. Being human is too tiring and hard. But what other choice do I have?

The Price We Pay

 “This one is more for me. I don’t think anyone else will see it really, but I need to do it for myself anyway. To get it out if nothing else.” Devi blinked at herself on the screen, then took a deep breath. “So I… I have lost two people recently who were really important to me in different ways, though both were somewhat unexpected and painful. As all losses are, I suppose.”

 

She blinked again in an attempt to ward off the tears waiting just behind her eyes, remembering those she had loved, and now lost. The first was someone she’d known her whole life. He was a close confidant and a cheerleader. Maybe at a distance, but he’d been there the whole way at every step, walking alongside Devi as she navigated the path of life. His loss had been like a punch to the gut and the heart.

 

The other person Devi had lost felt like a knife to the heart, and an extra knife or two in the back for good measure. They had been someone else Devi had considered close. But, little had she known, for her so called ‘friend’, the feeling had been far from mutual… As it turned out, Devi’s kindness, thoughtfulness and generosity in particular, all qualities she’d thought of as assets, were apparently, some kind of burdensome imposition.

 

Knowing that no one else would see this recording was the only thing that kept the embarrassment at bay as a tear fell from her eye. “It feels particularly stupid with them…” The loss was painful in a different way to that of Devi’s lifelong friend. The emotions caught up in that loss made sense. Someone died, you grieved. But with the other friend she’d lost, it was a different kind of loss. A different kind of pain and hurt that she struggled to make much sense of.

 

“Either way,” she concluded, as much as she could, for the camera and herself. “I guess this is a price of sorts. This hurt and this pain, as odd as it feels... It’s the price I pay for having had that relationship, that love that I’ve now lost.” 

It's grief, the voice of a wise friend echoed in Devi's mind. 

"Grief," Devi repeated out loud. "The price we pay for love."  

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This story continues that of Devi. You can read previous instalments here and here.

A Little Much

 Us bleeding hearts have a tendency to be drawn to people who are in some way or another, bleeding. Whether that be literal blood from a physical injury, or a more metaphorical kind of invisible bleeding, like what results from an emotional wound or psychological infliction of some kind. We want to help. Because, by nature, we are deep. Deeply caring, deeply giving, deeply loving, deeply nice, and also, deep feeling. 

Deep feeling; more familiar to some as empathy, or in the case of so many of us bleeding hearts, over empathy. Because us bleeding hearts, us over-empaths, rather than feeling for others, often feel as if we are the other. We experience their pain as if it is our own. It’s worse, the pain more intense, if the other happens to be someone important to us, or who we care about. But regardless of who it is and how intense the pain, this is where our drive to help comes from; a desire to alleviate the pain. To, in effect, stop the bleeding.

“I’ve never had a friend like you before,” is a sentiment I have heard more times now than I could possibly try to count. People are not used to the depth of a bleeding heart, our high level of care and generosity, nor our loyalty. We wear our hearts on our sleeves. It can be a bit off putting or confronting, and I get… well, I’ve learnt that it can be a bit much. I’ve learnt these things through the times I’ve been told they “haven’t ever met someone like me” or “had someone in their life like me”, usually as part of a conversation in which the other person is effectively cutting me out of their life completely. 

It is through these experiences I’ve also learnt that while us bleeding hearts wear our hearts on our sleeves, at times, it’s also like we’re carrying our hearts red raw on a platter in front of us ready to present to those who become close. I’ve discovered this because those parting conversations I’ve had with people can feel like having my heart torn into a million pieces, stomped all over and beaten to a bloody pulp, before the broken… nay, shattered heart is re-presented on a platter for me to try to figure out how to piece back together on my own.

But, I’m not always able to piece my heart back together in the same way it had been pieced together before. Each repair brings slight differences and lessons from the way it had just been broken. Yet, it keeps on breaking. That’s what I can’t stand. I think I’ve done better, that I’ve learnt, done enough for it to hold strong. And then, it’s shattered all over again. 

“You’re too kind and loyal,” was one of the latest comments, followed by, “you put thought into gifts you give.” 

“Those people…” My friend, Effie practically spits the last word. “… who say those things… they’re possibly struggling themselves, to accept the kindness, the loyalty, the thoughtfulness. Those are all wonderful qualities of yours. They’re part of what make you the beautiful you that you are. But they’re qualities which, if someone isn’t used to being on the receive end of them can be… too hard, too confronting… they’re the ones with the problem. They’re the ones struggling. Not you.” 

“But…” I start. “But doesn’t that mean they need that kindness even more?” 

A small smile spreads across Effie’s lips. “Yes,” she says. “But…” she trails off, thinking. “… well… as they say, you might be able to lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” 

My gaze falling to the ground, I nod. “I know. Dad says that a lot.” 

Effie winks. “I know he does.” She laughs. “Possibly because of how much truth there is in it.” 

“I suppose I can be a little much sometimes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Effie admits, “but there are people, like me, who can learn to understand that’s a part of who you are, and to navigate that together…” 

“… Like we do.” 

Effie nods. “Like we do, that’s right.” She takes a breath. “Others, like those stupidos, who can’t or aren’t willing to learn and work together with you? Well, they’re gonna miss out on a whole lot from you. Maria, your loyalty, kindness, thoughtfulness and generosity? The way you care and support others, and the way you show love? All of those things are things that make you an exceptional friend. To those who are willing to try to learn and understand. To those who really deserve it. The others? Yes, they may need it more than others, but they’ve made their choice, and they’re going to have to live with the consequences. They’re going to have to learn the hard way. It’s their loss.” 

“Mine too.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Effie says. “I just don’t want you thinking that it’s all on you. Because it’s not. They also had a part to play.”  

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This story continues the Bleeding Hearts collection, which started here. You can also now found all the stories from the collection (so far- will update there as/if more is written) together in one place on Wattpad here. 
The story is also partially inspired by a beautifully touching scene in the new Heartbreak High on Netflix (more here- one of the last few eps of season 1), so special shout out of thanks also to actors Chloe Hayden and James Majoos and the incredible writers, directors and other crew involved in bringing that scene to life 🤍💛💜

The Stranger Who Has Become a Friend

The memories of times before the darkness were faint, though they lingered. She remembered, vaguely, that there had been a time when the sun hadn't felt like it would burn. A time when the warmth had been part of joy, rather than being the intense kind of warmth.. more like searing heat that was sure to burn. What she couldn't remember was how long ago all of that had been.

 

Then, the stranger who had become a friend had come along. They’d helped her up and reintroduced her to warmth. Though, that’s all it was with them. Warmth. No burning. No searing heat. Just warmth. As if there were a fire blanket between the two of them, shielding her from a more harmfully high heat. She couldn’t really remember a time since the darkness without them in it, somehow.

 

She wouldn't ever forget everything they had done for her. Through a seemingly endless and generous abundance of patience, compassion and gentle care and kindness, the stranger had proven that really, they'd been a friend all along. Only, at first, she hadn't known it. She would always remember the way her now friend had made her feel; safe, supported, seen and held. With them, she felt wanted; even valued. like she was worthy. Of taking risks for, of giving a chance, of knowing. And after everything she had been through, there were no words adequate enough to describe just how powerful and impactful all of that had been, and still was.

 

She supposed the stranger-now-a-friend couldn't stay right by her side indefinitely. There had to come a time, eventually, when she started to stand on her own two feet, by herself. The thought of her friend not being right there was scary, almost terrifying. But them not being right there was all it was. It didn't mean that they weren't around at all, because they were. And they would still be right there, cheering her on. And it didn't mean that she couldn't call on them when she felt like she needed to, because she absolutely could.

 

The way they squeezed her hand before they left her side was particularly meaningful. She met their eyes, and their gaze seemed to say everything they maybe couldn’t find the right words to express out loud. I may not be right here, but I will be with you still, cheering you on just like I always have. You can do this. I know you don’t feel like you are, but you are strong enough. And if you struggle, if you fall… Look around you. 

 

So she did. In the beginning, they had been the only one beside her. But not anymore. Now, there were a lot more people around her. some of them kind and generously willing, like her first stranger-now-a-friend.

There are others now too, you can take your hand, who can walk alongside you and support you. They won't be me, I know. But I won't be too far away. It will be a bit different, but I will still be with you.

She nodded back at them with tear filled eyes. They believed in her when she struggled to believe in herself, just like always. That hadn't changed. What had was that the stranger was not a stranger anymore. They were a friend now. A treasured friend she would hold on to. Maybe this was just a new start.

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This story follows on from No Words, which you can read here. I'm not sure if it's a prequel, sequel, a little of both, or maybe it's just related- I'll leave that for you to decide.