Thoughts of flight

I want to cry. There, I said it. I want to cry. I’m such a vulnerable person. When I meet people, one of the things I want to tell them is that I’m vulnerable. I’m really sensitive. I’m a pretty strong person, in the sense that I am determined – so if I feel like I have to cheer up, then I will try, and cheer up I will. But I am sensitive and often I cannot take a joke. I’ve been known to be overly sensitive and not be able to take jokes, but then again, everyone has a different sense of humour. I can find something funny, I can – but sometimes, I may find it offensive.

I was talking to my friend Mike earlier about how open I am with people. I realise that it’s not a good idea to be open with people, or get too close to people quickly. A lot of people I have felt close to have drifted away from me soon later. And I don’t blame them; I don’t blame myself either. Sometimes friends will drift away and you will realise you weren’t that close with them. I wasn’t that close to the friends I no longer talk to.

My friend at work, Noelle, who is a year younger than me, asked if it was normal that people stopped talking to their friends after high school ended. I believed it to be the case, that high school is just one experience in a whole lifetime of experiences, and over time you’ll get older and find new friends. We talked to Kristen too, another workmate, and she said, “My high school friends don’t talk to me anymore. Sometimes it’s just… we bump into each other and they say, ‘oh you’re in uni, you’ve changed’, and they think they know you because they’ve known you longer. We don’t talk anymore.”

I asked James how many friends he had. We talk about it a lot. Not having many friends, that is. He said four. And I said eight, but I could cut that to four really close friends if I really wanted. On the fingers of one hand. It doesn’t bother me.

Making new friends is always difficult. I feel like I should wear a sticker saying “I’m vulnerable” on it. The same way you wear a name tag to show people what your name is, because it’s important. I’m not trying to draw attention to myself – though I said to Mike, I do like some attention, but it’s not like I go looking for it. But I feel like people should know certain things about me before we talk. I wish we knew the important things about people behind their name before we talk to them. That way, anything we say wouldn’t offend or hurt them in any way. Imagine saying something nasty about homosexuals to someone homosexual, because you didn’t know they were? Or slaughtering a certain religion in front of someone who practices that religion?

Now I want to cry because I’m stressed out. I say I want to cry, and if I don’t say why, people will ask. I love my friends because they don’t have to ask. They just know. I’m stressed out despite having another hour (daylight savings). I had a good sleep last night, but I feel like I don’t look forward to the weekends anymore, because there are home duties to take care of, readings for homework, and I always try and squish all my week’s homework into the weekend before.

I don’t know if I’m trying way too hard. I was on floor twenty-something of the tower building of our university and I looked over the edge.

Five years ago, I would have wanted to jump. I was suicidal.

Now, I wanted to fly.

People don’t see the change in me because I don’t put a sticker on my head saying I’ve changed. But I know I have, and I think that’s what matters.

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