I hate (sorta not hate) to admit that I’ve become a less sensitive person. Even if I still am, my empathy and care to other people jumped down drastically.
I started realising this ever since I plunged into grade 8 and forth. After my scoliosis surgery, I can’t help but realise how much I’ve changed. I don’t blame all of it on my surgery, my society, or my friends. I blame it on me.
First of all, here’s the truth: after surgery, I actually became more caring to others, because I realise I wouldn’t have come this far (overcome my pain etc.) without other people caring for me. So I started paying more attention to people’s pain, trying to help them recover by empathising with them. But this move turned into a boomerang and lashed me back.
The thunderstorm came. My identity as a future ballerina vanished, so I was in search of who I really was, what I really am, etc. (the dramatic story of ballet shall be told another time). And my society didn’t really help at all. I couldn’t spend time with friends because I became different from them: one year hiatus of all physical activities. Soon, I became a so-called loner. Nobody cared playing with me, and I understand why: I was no fun.
Over the years, people started hurting me. I compensated all the pain by changing (unconsciously) into someone detached from society. I zipped myself at school and focused on studying. I changed into someone who didn’t give a damn to whatever was happening with my classmates. Someone who sought no attention. Someone who spoke whatever she wanted to speak without thinking about how others felt anymore, because that was what people had been doing to me for the past years. I didn’t even try to empathise. I tried to numb myself, so I wouldn’t get hurt if people mocked me, or despised me.
I admit, I utterly disliked some of my teachers. They were no help. Wait, they actually did help. They helped to kill me. Kill who I was, so that my new self emerged.
Now, even though I understand what and how people feel when they’re down (because, obviously, I’ve been there), I can’t share words of empathy. It’s gone. I turned into the practical girl, who can only give suggestions on what to do and finish problems–but that’s it. Nothing more. Sometimes, when people talk to me and rant (especially girls), I want to show my empathy, but I just can’t. I feel like showing empathy is all bullshit because it doesn’t finish any problems. Honest.
I thought I would’ve become numb after all these knives shredding my personality layer by layer. I thought I would’ve been numb whenever people hurt me now. But I’m still not. When people hurt me, most of the time I could forget about it, but other times, it still grates my cuticles; it hurts. And I hate myself for not being numb about it.
Caring. That would’ve been a positive trait I would say when people ask me if I hadn’t changed. Probably it’s still in my treasure chest somewhere; I’m not sure. But what I’m sure of, is, that’s not who I am now.
I’m not her anymore. I don’t know if I want to change back. I care enough, but not too much, because people betray you anyways. People take you for granted.
People treat you like utensils.
At least now, I don’t hurt as much as I did before, right?
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