Growing apart

I feel life too intensely.  Maybe that’s why I love(d) acting.  The depth with which I’m allowed to feel and portray emotions is ideal.  

Monologues that make my skin tingle and guts vibrate are my coping mechanism.

I was able to lean into that crutch for years.  With my most recent position working with youth I had to teach them how to deal with conflict in a socially acceptable, middle-class, way.  As a result, I wasn’t able to harbor my emotions and use them as fodder for my next prized performance.  I learned to address conflict in a healthy and appropriate manner, for that I will always give thanks.

But now, I’m a little too raw for my own liking.  When people come to me with their own issues, projecting them as frustration or wrongdoing by me, that hurts me more than I’d like.  A friend who is dealing with their own shit hurt me badly and I’m not sure they’ll ever care or know just how much.  I’m afraid we’re growing apart.  I’m afraid we were never on the same level.

I’m a little too well-adjusted to losing people I love for my own liking.

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