I’m not sure sometimes of who I am.
I am a sister.
A big sister.
I am a daughter.
The eldest daughter.
That’s pretty much it. I act like both of these things. Responsible, worrying all the time, conscious of everything around me, being the fixer. Always the fixer. Without these I am no one.
I spend hours, literal hours, doing things for other people. At work. At home.
I’m hardly obligated to do these things or to behave the way I do. I choose to because I don’t know anything else. But sometimes being told I “sigh too much” that I am “cold” that I “wait for people to fail” becomes too much sometimes.
If I am so bad why am I here? If I am so unfeeling, so much a source of contempt, why am I the person called upon to sort things out? If I care that someone isn’t well I care too much and I am overbearing. If I offer an opinion on something or someone I am “unfair” or “rude”.
Every emotion I can show seems to be too much for others. Is it any wonder that I have spent this year, more than any other year, beating down my emotions? I can’t count how many times I have swallowed my tears. The one time I did cry openly this year, the look of contempt I received is something that keeps me awake at night.
I am not surrounded by horrible people. I just don’t think they realise how they look at me sometimes. That look of disgust, like there is something wrong with me.
No matter how much I try. No matter what I do, there is something wrong, something not quite right with me.
I will continue to bear it. No feelings, less emotion, zero tears.
I’ll deal with it all someday.
Just not today. There is simply too much to do.