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Being ‘Too Much’.

Photo by Remi Clinton on Unsplash

I care too much. Sometimes more than they care about me.

I used to be part of a community (to be more specific, a religious one). And I was so committed to them. All of my friends were from this community. And I had cut off most of my friends outside of this community. I cared about my friends so much. In my head, they were my second family.

When I decided to take a break from this community due to mental health reasons such as feeling burnt out, I realised that none of my so-called friends reached out to me. Anyone who reached out was obligated, as they were my leaders within the community.

I realised my friends were not truly friends. We were friends based on the community, but we were strangers outside of this community. It was sad. My heart broke into a million pieces. I cut ties with the community. And I never looked back.

Now, I’ve reconnected with my old friends outside of the community. I continue to care a lot about them. Even if they may not reciprocate. But I accept it. Because that it just me being myself.

I think too much. I often wonder if someone is mad at me.

Sometimes, when my parents get angry, I don’t know why, but I sometimes wonder if that expression is directed at me. Logically, I think that I had done nothing wrong for them to be mad at me. But emotionally, I’m scared, worried that I may have done something earlier to make them mad.

I think to myself and come up with many ideas that I may have done something wrong. I spiral, and my thoughts darken by the minute. It’s as if I am stuck within a tornado, and I cannot get out. I try to tell myself, it’s okay, maybe it was nothing that I did. But I still worry. And so I try to calm them down; I meditate. I say sorry, even if it was not my fault.

I am simply a chronic overthinker who has anxiety and probably C-PTSD. And that’s just me being myself.

I feel too much. To the extent that I have to filter out certain news articles because they make me feel so much. For people. For lives. For humanity. For justice.

Recently, my paternal grandmother passed away. It was about a month ago. I was not very, very close to her. But her passing left me distraught. I felt so much.

My relatives were much closer to her when she was alive, but they left so quickly after seeing her pass on the hospital bed. They waited for my parents and me to arrive so that my father could do the paperwork. And then they left. I simply could not begin to understand how they could do that.

As I stood in the hospital ward beside her bed, I cried after they had left the room. The lack of decency they had shown made me feel. I felt so sorry for my grandmother, who had a husband and daughter and other grandchildren, who walked away right after her death.

I was in anguish on behalf of my grandmother. I felt that my relatives were not deserving of her. And so I pretty much gave them the cold shoulder throughout her wake. And then I cut ties with them after the wake.

I felt so much. I could not comprehend how her supposed ‘loved ones’ could do such a thing. It felt as if they were simply in the hospital to watch her die, then after she died, they threw the actual work to my dad and just disappeared. It was just bizarre to me.

Maybe it was just me who felt too much. But that is just me being myself.

I don’t necessarily want to care too much, think too much, feel too much. But I simply do. Because I am myself. And that is perfectly alright. I want to be authentically me. And so I accept myself for who I am; I accept myself for being ‘too much’.

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