Is it worth it?
I’ve always known that my past affects the way that I see the world, people, and myself, but it sometimes comes out in the most unexpected ways.
I find myself crying when people give me a gift, or when I say goodbye to my family, or when someone just tells me how special they think I am and I can see that they really mean it. I cry because I was never used to that. I cry because I didn’t know people paid attention to me like that at all. I didn’t know that they were listening when I told them my favorite color, or my favorite movies, or anything I said. I didn’t know that they were actually seeing what was beneath my skin. For the longest time, I became used to the idea that people really wanted to be around me because I was too nice to ever say a bad thing against them, or because they just wanted someone around and I’d never leave. This didn’t make me bitter though. I believed that this was what I deserved out of life because of all the little mistakes I had made. This was my way of paying for those mistakes.
It’s sad, but I’m only just now realizing how sad it is to be the person who cries when people are kind to them. I cry because I never expect it, and I don’t expect it because I don’t think I deserve it. And it’s not because I’m not confident about myself, either. I do have confidence in parts of my life––I know I am smart, I know I am a good writer and an artist, and I know that I have a strength that not many people can say they have. But I can have all of that, and still not feel like I deserve the kindness that others show me—why? In my mind, I know I can be a better person. Why should I be rewarded for a lesser version of myself? That’s what usually goes through my mind.
Then I spiral into all of the ways I could do better and be better. And I think that there must be something wrong with me if all of these bad things keep happening. When I lost my family, I didn’t just lose my five siblings and a father. I lost my mother to grief. I lost my grandparents to old, stubborn family feuds. With one great loss, many others came. It seemed that a majority of people only came into my life to get my hopes up only to let me down. I took this as a sign that I was supposed to go about this world alone, and maybe this was my way of paying for my mistakes and darkness.
It took me years to let someone into my inner world. I let down the walls with my best friend and let her see all the imperfect parts of myself. We’ve been friends for ten years and I think I’ve only just recently let her into my mind and heart completely. It was worth it because now I have at least one person in this world who understands and cares for me as I do for her. And I know it isn’t always perfect and we have disagreements, but it is different to love someone who loves you just as much.
I realized that I loved people who didn’t love me as much, whether romantically or in a friendship or even family because it was easier to lose people you know didn’t care much for you.
To lose the people you loved, who you know loved you so fiercely—it is a greater loss than I can describe. I think that is why I keep that circle of people so small. The fewer people you love who love you back, the less likely it is you’ll feel the depth of such losses.
On the flip side, to feel the love of people you love, to hold their hand and laugh with them, to cry on the floor with them, or to leap into each other’s arms because you missed them so much—it’s the greatest, most human feeling I have ever felt, and to miss out on that—well, I don’t think I would have as much strength as I do now if I didn’t know this feeling existed.
But I guess that’s the risk we take when we love people. We experience the sun-filled greatness of love with the risk that we may one day lose them and feel the heavy hollows of loss.
Is that risk worth it? If you ask me now, I’d say this:
Yes. Every second of pain is absolutely worth every second of happiness.
