I wish I had the luxury of being open.

I wish I had the luxury of being able to be open.

Yes, I realize that only halfsies makes sense, because I do my best to remain as open as possible to people, to be transparent, so they can see that no one is perfect and that they will make it through, too.
But as I see my friends post the links to their blogs so people can find it and read it, or share links to a dance they choreographed to tell their story of pain and abuse, I find myself fighting off feelings of jealousy.

I wish I had the luxury of being able to be open.
I wish I could post the link to this blog, and not have all those people that are nosy or opinionated or negative or judgmental read it or leave their comments or come up to me later grilling me about what I said or holding their view of what I expressed over my head.
I don't want to have to explain myself.
Ironically, this is what I find myself also striving to do.
If I'm going to speak, if people are going to judge, I want them to understand where I'm coming from.

This is something I've been struggling with lately. The notion that sometimes no amount of words can convince someone of your point. That there are times when the best thing you can do or say is nothing at all. The realization that I don't have to be understood and that just because someone disagrees, doesn't mean that I am wrong or that whatever it made them feel is my fault.

I forget that most people that I would consider good friends don't really know much about me or what I've been through. I'm constantly trying to improve and grow and learn from the situations that are put into my life. And while I'm open to helping or speaking to someone in my life who may be going through something similar, most don't realize I have that kind of story to tell.
I guess half of it is caused from not dwelling on these things I'm fighting every day, and part is from that deeply ingrained notion that it's so much easier to handle the people I have to interact with in my life when I don't have people coming up and asking me details every other moment.

Because I don't have the luxury of being open.

Maybe it's because I've become more introverted, but I also know how to not let that overcome me if there's someone I need to approach or speak to, etc. (I'm considered an ambivert.) But I do know there's a distinct difference between people who ask questions because their curious, and people who ask questions because they're hurting, too.

Sometimes, I worry that by not being able to be open, I'm missing out on helping people through times that I had to walk mostly alone. (I don't wish that upon anyone ever.) But at the same time I have people telling me how approachable I am, and confiding in me even without knowing anything I've been through, or asking my advice on something I have no personal experience with.

It's a constant curiosity of mine, this ebb and flow of my story.
I know it'll all make sense one day, and that's why I just keep going and doing what my convictions tell me is the right thing to do, even if no one agrees with me or if I think I'm crazy.

I have shared my blog post before, and I won't lie, it was really nice to see people interested in my life and what I think. Sometimes I feel like there isn't a soul in the world that cares, because there are plenty that are curious, but only to use it against me later.
Maybe that is just another thing I have to overcome, or learn how to handle or whatever. Because the hardest ones to deal with this about are the ones whose opinion matter the most and hits my heart the hardest.
All my attempts at distancing from this have been futile, and now I'm left trying to piece what I understand of my life back together again.

I can only conclude that I was not made for this world.