I can't help but think: do you have more fun without me?

How do you tell someone that when they laugh at something someone said after you leave a room it makes you dig half-moons into your palms till they burn, without sounding insane?

I blink. Eyes scrambling back to the beginning of the question.

How often do you talk to people about your emotions?

An uncomfortable burn twists in my chest, unspoken words that are too overbearing to share crushing my heart. The pencil feels like a pen in my fingers, irreversible once it hits the white page.

“Can’t you just tell them how it makes you feel?”

Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.

I often choose silence over the phrase “is it better to speak or to die?” because how could I burden others with irrational jargon that clouds my vision?  Did you know that emotion isn’t controlled by one point in your brain but a ‘functional system’? Because I did, I’ve done all the research to find out why I react this way, why I always pick the most irrational response to changes in people’s tone, behaviour and interactions. Because between my amygdala, hippocampus and prefrontal cortex, I should understand. But I don’t. I can’t stop the fuzzy burn as I watch you laugh hard at someone else’s jokes or the way both pairs of your eyes meet and I don’t know the context behind your small smile, or why the conversation goes quiet when I grow closer.

Almost never.

Why do you think you feel this way?

Because I let my past dictate my responses to present situations based on similar interactions I had in the past that affected me negatively, thus influencing my behaviour. I learnt about that too, operant conditioning or something like that. To me this emotion feels like a reaction or learned behaviour to my own overthinking but being self-aware and being able to stop it are two different things, and trying to reason with overflowing thoughts in your head is like a rowboat against a tsunami, better to go with the flow.

“What a shit analogy”

Well, that’s how it feels to me. 

I don’t like to admit that I get jealous, because it’s an ugly word and it’s an ugly feeling. Do I even have the right to feel jealous? You’re allowed to be friends with other people, you’re allowed to laugh, be happy, smile and talk about other people. But I can’t help but think, what if you’re laughing about me? Do you have more fun without me? Are they funnier than I am? Why do you laugh harder with them than with me? Do you like them more than me? That burning sensation crawls through my chest, sinking its fuzzy claws into my lungs and making it harder for me to think clearly, until all I can think is “What if the overthinking is right?”.

I’m not sure.

I know you can feel it too, when my words become short and sharp and I can’t bring myself to look you in the eyes. Because deep down I know that I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t stop it. It’s like a defence mechanism that is always trying to prepare me for the worst-case scenario without considering the other options first. You try to make me feel better and I know you’re trying to help but my mind is filled with sharp retorts and unfair responses.

“Why don’t you go date her then if she’s so much funnier than I am?”

Please stop.

How can we help you?

I don’t know.

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