Life is not easy, but it is doubly even triply harder for thoes two: the sensitive one and the one who is helplessly shy. Unfortunately, I happen to be the both. Someone once said that she had admired me, because I seemed to manage my life pretty well. When I heard that, I almost burst into laugh and blurted out: “You had no idea!” Only I didn’t---as a sensitive person I always keep myself in tightly check in fear of offending the others. If only she knew!

I have a box inside me that never used to exist. It’s down in my deepest, darkest corner, and it’s airtight, soundproofed, and padlocked. It’s where I keep thoughts I don’t know what to do with, that could get me into trouble. Only if she caught a glimpse of what’s inside, I am sure she would get a quite shock and might wonder why have not I picked up a knife nearby and put an end to it all. Humor me, I might call the simply fact that I still exist—if not a miracle, but at least a great success.

Sensitive

The worst about being sensitive is I feel too much. I read between lines, I see the darkest of the darkness, I catch every flicker of doubt, sneer, and dislike from the others which usually they don’t want me to see. It’s like being exposed, day and night, to scary dose of emotional radiations--and I am right in the center of every targeted area. Powerless, frustrated, and self-denial. Allow me to exaggerate it a bit; being sensitive is like to catch mental AIDS---human’s head has its own immunity system, filtering negative information out and saving the good ones for keep---being sensitive, my immunity is damaged and drops to the lowest level.

There is another reason why the word AIDS pop out: nobody likes to deal with the sensitive people and always avoid them as quick as possible. Being sensitive, I am easily upset, and criticism from the others spoke itself in the loudest volume. “I have tolerated you enough” become “I have suffered you enough.” Every word is like a knife stabbing right into my heart. It felt like all the air had snatched out of my constricted lungs and I had to remind ourself: Oxygen is good for your health, so breath. I like to run, to hide, to find someplace to lick my wound quietly, only find that I've bumped into another cold wall. If I don’t keep myself in check, I might turn into emotional basket at any time.

Therefore, just to survive, I lock away surplus emotions, wove a safe cocoon nothing could pierce for me to hide, and live behind a face of indifference, unreachable and serene. The more something hurt, the more I retreat behind a meaningless smile and blank immovable remoteness. However, what’s beneath that disguise? You would never want to know.

To be continue….