I’d like to think of myself as a strong woman. Yoga givin’ me muscles that I dunno what to do with and I could probably beat you in an arm wrestling match. I don’t take anything to the heart. And I’ve probably been through more shit than you could even imagine.
Been there, done that, and gotten over it with thicker (albeit still soft) skin. I can handle it. It don’t phaze me. Watch me overcome. It’s nothin’.
I joke about my cold black heart but in all reality, its more a of a vice than a virtue. The problem with feeling nothing is exactly that. I. feel. nothing.
As as much as I can appreciate my ability to shrug off a petty remark about my weight, I can’t get used to not being completely blown away by a Jamaican sunset. I should feel more but… I just don’t.
Maybe its just my jaded sense of reality. Maybe its just that I’ve gotten really used to building walls and standing my ground. Maybe I’ve just seen too much and been through too much shit because sometimes, I just simply feel… broken. It fucking kills me because when I can’t be as happy as I know I can be, I just feel ungrateful — which is never, ever the case. WTF is wrong with me? I. don’t. know.
All I know is that I don’t need to be strong. I don’t give a fuck if I’m strong. I just need to be happy.
Because although I’m never genuinely depressed about things, I’m never genuinely ecstatic either. I’m not sure how I feel about that. In fact, I’m not sure how I feel at all. I just know I’ll be alright… cuz it’s nothin’.