The woes of being hypersensitive

Tiffany Persaud, Features & Lifestyle Editor

         I cry in my bed almost every day. Sometimes I know why, sometimes I don’t. My pillow and cat-patterned blanket have seen me at my worst. I’ve cried out of hurt and pain to the point where I thought there was no recovery for me. Crying is a bodily stressor, and I remember once crying until my period came early. No one understands me, I fear, so I’m left alone to sniffle in silence.  

          I’m very sweet and quiet by nature, I smile, I laugh and I love making others do the same. When I go home at night, though, I spiral into depressive episodes that make me emotional beyond understanding. I isolate myself away from everyone, but I despise being alone. As I don’t work or have any out-of-the-house hobbies, attending class is the only distraction from my personal life. Yet in class, I get distracted by my personal life. I catch myself when my professors look at me with concern and I quickly dry up the tears. As you can tell, I’m big on contradictions. 

          I largely suffer from depression as the result of my tumultuous childhood, and it seems as if the curse has followed me into adulthood. I’m grateful for the few happy experiences I’ve had since turning 21, and reminiscing about those memories helps me forget my current problems. I associate the feeling of warmth with a big hug from my mom, which is where I feel the most comforted. When mama bear is not around, I seek comfort in my warm tea, warm showers and sleeping with my hot water bag every night.  

       Although growing up was rough, my mom managed to raise me to be the best version of myself. She overwhelmed me with love and snuggles, and most importantly she listened to me, but I was still depressed as a child too. It’s a learning curve for a child to learn how to process their feelings. As I matured, I noticed how many outlets of distraction there are. By participating in many extra-curricular activities such as Indian dancing and sports, I was able to express myself through the movement of my body.  

        No one knows this about me because I’ve created the best poker face. This poker face can only temporarily hold shape until I begin thinking about everything that’s wrong with my life and my eyes well up. Depression has provoked me into becoming extremely naive, vulnerable and sensitive. Negative situations affect me much worse than the average person. I have recently gone through a breakup, where I was initially anguished with grief. Although I’m still sad, time heals everything, and I deserve to be loved to the fullest capacity. Not everything is blue, my emotional capacity has managed to create the most positive qualities as a feminine woman – I love hard and I innately develop empathy for everyone. 

         You might ask why I haven’t considered seeking help. Well, therapy is expensive, that’s why. Health insurance does not cover heartache. Frankly, an emotional support animal would benefit me much more, and I’m looking into adopting a cat to ease my loneliness. The action of “seeking help” makes me feel selfish. After a good cry, I feel intensely tone-deaf because there are millions of starving, dying children in this world and I have the audacity to feel sorry for myself. There’s not a person alive who hasn’t been afflicted with a mental health issue. I’m writing in hopes of reaching someone to know that more people share your pain than you realize because this is the first time I’m displaying this part of me. 

        I’ll be 22 on April 9th, and in my short lifetime, my eyes have cried enough tears equaling a few lifetimes over. However, I’ve learned to appreciate how strong I am to endure the things that I have. I’d like to apologize to my mom who often feels helpless when seeing me cry. I feel helpless myself… my eyes are getting weary. Happy birthday to me.