I had learned to share my feelings in a very specific way — as an announcement, bold and constructed in a way that people's reactions didn't matter. If they took it as a quirky thought, fine. A deep reveal of who I feel I am, fine.
I'd frame them in some sort of metaphor, an extreme, irreverent version of what the actual feeling was. There was a truth behind it, but the presentation was deniable, the reaction from people generally some version of “oh, you're so funny, how do you come up with this stuff?” And that was okay.
There have been maybe two times in my life where what I was saying landed really differently — and not by design or intent.
The other person's reaction was different, they seemed to hear beyond the words, it felt like they understood the feeling at the core and they didn't laugh or think I was weird — they accepted what I'd said and responded in a way that triggered something in me. A sense that I mattered or was important or was real. I felt seen, understood, worth something.
And those moments, the feelings that they gave me were immense and life changing and made me question everything.
Maybe I had been wrong about myself? Maybe I was capable of being understood, or wasn't such a freak.
The second time it happened, it wasn't in an ideal context, and as much as that feeling — that moment — was real, in every other way they made me feel rejected, irrelevant and a bit worthless. There was an intensity that would come and go, a closeness that only existed within certain times or contexts.
And those feelings are probably — mostly — a result of the stark contrast between normal behaviour and that moment that changed everything.
What I'm starting to wonder, or realise, is that all of those feelings were mine — good and bad, and while they might have been influenced by a different person, it was all in my head.
Whether I matter or not to them isn't my choice, whether I'm the person they want to speak to, or spend time with or share things with is largely irrelevant to how I feel about them.
Most disturbingly, I'm not sure how to make sense of the concept that potentially those two moments, that intensity of feeling, was all me.
And if it was all me, why can't I do it more? Why can't I let anyone give me that feeling? It's intoxicating, addictive — so if I was capable, I'd definitely be doing it.
So if it's all in my head, and I can't control or will it.
What am I supposed to do?
So it seems, it requires a certain something, a collision of needing to hear something, a person who's able to understand the concept and who can meet that need without even thinking about it.
Three things arriving at the same time, without influence or control.
The more recent moment has put me on a spiral of emotions over many months. The person wasn't trying to create the moment, likely has no idea they even did it. They were just being themselves. Funny, direct and present — and something in me caught it, and turned it into the realest, most important thing.
This has created a turbulent situation, where a person made me feel real in a certain huge way, but also I know it didn't count for them as anything much.
They aren't withholding anything, there was never anything there to withhold — all the things that have made me feel good or made me feel bad since that moment have all been constructed by me, all in my head — and I think I've known this for a while, but it's confusing and devastating to know that the moment wasn't real beyond however my nervous system decided to react.
Just a cruel trick of the mind.