Be Loud

I typed up a really lengthy post the other night. It was probably 2am, I had a glass of wine, and by glass, I mean twelve, and I was having some feelings, and by some, I mean a lot.

For whatever reason, my subconscious decided to dig deep into my past and force me to relive a pretty traumatizing moment during 7th grade lunch which probably has a lot to do with the way I am now.

Emotionally closed off.

Quiet.

And, my most favorite description as of late, which is undoubtedly the most truthful, stoic.

I was picked on throughout my childhood. People made fun of me because I didn’t have a thigh gap. People made fun of me because I was in “smart people classes.” And people made fun of me because I wasn’t “cool.” Where I went to school, having bleach blonde hair, calling everyone “boo” and being way too excited about the Strawberry Festival made you cool.

I’m a natural brunette, and though I’ve played with hair color recently, I have no intention of going platinum.

I call people “shithead,” not “boo.”

The Strawberry Festival is literally my worst nightmare.

I honestly can’t remember if I ever stood up to those who made fun of me. The me today would introduce them to my right hook and spit witty venom in their faces, but the person I was back then probably just took it.

And took it.

Until I couldn’t take it anymore, so I shut down.

I stopped showing people I cared.

I stopped opening up to people.

I became stoic. And hardened. And funny.

Because, when you feel pain, make others feel joy through laughter.

So that’s what I did. From 7th grade until this very day.

It’s interesting how your past can affect your future so greatly, isn’t it? It’s wild. Something so seemingly minute that happened in your youth could COMPLETELY explain everything about why you are the way you are.

Because of my past (there’s more, but I don’t feel the need to elaborate yet), I have turned into this statue of a human being that dares not to show emotion. Don’t get me wrong, I smile, frown, laugh, etc. I have emotions, but if I can avoid expressing them for fear of becoming vulnerable, I will. And that’s a shame.

It’s okay to speak up. That’s something I’ve learned.

It’s okay to have a voice.

To take a stand.

It’s okay to laugh.

And smile.

And cry.

And stare longingly into another human’s eyes and think, “Man, I like them” and tell them.

Tell them.

It’s okay to let yourself feel and to let other people see it.

That’s something that I’ve learned.

So, be loud.

Always.

Be loud.

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