when I said I was difficult;
I wasn’t depreciating myself,
I wasn’t unhappy with my circumstances
– and most importantly,
I wasn’t challenging anyone to try and deal with it – many have tried, few came close to but none succeeded.
I knew the circumference of my soul,
The depth of the abyss that is my giving heart,
And the pain of the feet that had only ever walked that extra mile.
I knew the rough edges, the short breath, the creeping insecurities and the loud silence in my head. I knew it all too well and through years of relentless battles, I had finally grown to accept who I was, who I am.
When I said I was difficult, I meant exactly that.
I meant I was perpetually caught between not enough and too much and the sometime standing beneath the shadow of my clouded mind were bound to be too much. I knew my cloud, I had learned to accept my cloud. But it was never anyone else’s burden to deal with – I had made sure of it.
I meant you didn’t have to stay. And I hope you hadn’t. I hoped no one did. I knew the storms I had to brave to – I knew the nights I had to embrace my shattered heart till it stopped weeping, afraid of the storm. I knew I couldn’t expect anyone else to brave the storm for me. I knew no one would. I hoped no one would.
Too many have tried to convince me otherwise. But when I said I was difficult, I wasn’t challenging, it was not a plea to try and make them stay. It was genuine acceptance of the circumstances – a wall built to protect myself from the inevitable goodbyes. I’ve spent years mastering the art of being alone — accepting myself for the “difficult” soul I was.
And lately I’ve been hoping no one ever tried to convince me otherwise.