"I am for everything and nothing"

Hello Universe,

I’ve been. Which is exhausting, if you ask me, to be in a past tense.

When I cry (like when a tree falls, and no one is around to hear it) I can say it does make a sound. It does get heard by the things around it, as the vibrations travel from me outward, the plants in my home feel it along with the walls or the light fixtures that vibrate back. It bugs me that I am not here, in a present tense.
…
The reality of the situation presented itself in the form of one terribly long text.
I sat in the lounge chair of an office that is meant to hold me as I stare into the eyes of a woman who takes notes and encourages me to be my best self. “Awe, you just want to be loved.” Her words echo in my head. I know when I am not wanted, it is a sensation that can be felt deep in my system. The air in the room shifts and during conversation it could be heard in the inflection of a word or the tone shift, sometimes you hear the beats in between words.

I sit in my chair and stare at the black mirror in front of me when my mind visualizes a memory of my first intervention in 4th grade with the school psych “you don’t have to be friends with everyone”. I’m 8 years old again. The air is stale and smells like old carpet from the 90’s. Why would she say that to me? Shouldn’t we want to be friends with everyone? What I did not know at the time was the difference between being friendly and being friends.

Suddenly, I am now surrounded by darkness. I’m in an enclosed space. My cheeks are wet and taste like salt. There is a man who sits next to me, he’s in the passenger seat of my car, his flat brows express his numbness. I see myself in the driver seat curled up into a ball. He talks to me as I try to make sense of what is happening. My mouth moves and I speak.

“Why am I doing this, it’s not your burden to console me right now” I sob then hear the mans voice.
“You said the magic word again, you are not a burden.” the man says, as he abruptly leaves the car and closes the door, walking away from the woman (I am her) . She is in tears after expressing her confusion and is met with disconnection.

Eventually I come back to, I’m in the room again with the woman who lightly rocks herself whenever I express my pain to her. I sit on the couch that consumes me. She looks at me, supportive of the text we have built to ensure my words are not twisted with the stinging poison of anger. I look down at my black mirror and breathe deeply, I send the text I’ve been paining over for a week:

Hi, It's clear we see things differently. I agree we should take a break. I want what's best for us.

I hold the black mirror in my hand. I look out the window to my right and scream towards the clock tower that stands out the room’s window. All the energy that built up inside of me just in those few seconds escaped out my mouth as I cried. I was never going to be seen the same again, my fate had been sealed. With one text conversation a timeline I cherished halted, but one I also struggled with being a witness to.

With that, my heart broke twice in 4 months. I’m certain there are little organisms in my body holding the muscle tissue of my heart together with all of their might. “I am not for everyone” I say to myself in my head again. Not everything is meant for me.

It is the evening, I sit on the floor in front of a space heater looking for the comfort to survive the emotion that sweeps over me.I have no one to hold me through this, I can only scream. I see myself now in third person. The version of myself who is small sits next to me. She starts to cry. She has been told she leaned too much on a friend and that her grief was exhausting. The belief of being a burden comes from the experience of being walked away from when you are experiencing distress, because someone does not know what to do. The little girl starts to believe she is not worthy of having her needs met because they seem too burdensome and tiring to meet.

But, maybe she seems a burden to those who are not ready for someone who wears their heart on their sleeve. Maybe she is someone who just needs to be held and told she is loved and she is understood when she feels lost.

Universe, let her know that not everyone will have the knowledge and the wisdom to understand her pain, and know how to sit with it. Let her know that she can sit with me and I can hold her and tell her she is loved. Tell her I will not make her feel guilty for her grief.