I am too sensitive. Simple as that.
I’ve been told this my whole life. I’ve known it my whole life. I would remember the hurtful things most, holding them in my mind, maintaining a grudge even when I knew it was wrong, even when I knew I wasn’t being sensible, even when I knew the words had never been meant as criticism.
Any hint of disapproval, whether in the words themselves or the inflection of the voice, would have me devastated. Another scar on my soul, a scar that wouldn’t even be there if I weren’t such a weak person.
But I have my pride. Yes, even though I am deeply insecure and hate myself so much, there’s pride in me. Pride is wrong. It’s egotistical. It makes me question myself. Am I really as insecure as I say I am? If I were, then I wouldn’t have this pride. I must be a poseur, lying both to myself and the outside world.
After being constantly derided for my sensitivity, I tried to hide it better. I often did a piss-poor job, breaking into fits of weeping I’d be told were way out of proportion to the situation. I didn’t reveal my innermost thoughts, though, because I knew I’d just be told they were silly.
I would wonder why no one loved me, but I didn’t say anything about this to anyone. I was inclined to keep my self secret.
This was no one else’s fault. How were my parents supposed to reassure me if I never brought up what I was feeling? In the grand scheme of things, I had good parents. They’ve always cared about me, and many can’t say the same.
It’s always been my fault. I should’ve learned to be stronger.
How can I ever make it in life if I bruise so easily?
I like the idea of constructive criticism. I’d rather people be honest about matters than mince words.
At the same time, I need to be handled with kid gloves. Too much indication that I’ve done something wrong, and I crumble.
Yet I cannot be handled with kid gloves. If I am, then I feel insulted, as if the person talking to me believes I’m too much of a baby to digest the cold, hard truth. Or that they’re disguising their real feelings by feeding me lies.
My sensitivity makes me defensive. I feel like I have to prove I’m not wrong at all costs. I have to vindicate myself. I have to explain every little thing that led me to an action in order to show I’m right. If I’m wrong, then it feels like a personal failure.
The only way never to be hurt is to isolate myself, yet I crave human contact, human connection.
But I feel unworthy of that connection.
There’s always an insurmountable distance as well.
People are always closer to others than they are to me. I grow jealous and take it as a personal affront. I’m not good enough, I think, or else that person would talk to me as much as they talk to those other people. I can’t initiate the contact myself. What if I’m bothering them? I’m always a bother. When I’m present, they might indulge me so they don’t hurt my feelings. Why do they care about my feelings? They don’t, perhaps. They just don’t want to see me make a scene.
I’m overly defensive in order to protect myself. I grow hard, disdaining the world. This to prevent my sensitivity from devouring me.
For that would be the end of me.
I’m extremely sensitive but have some pride too, usually about different traits though. I think it might be part of the dichotomy of the BPD. I don’t want to be treated like a kid but I also feel entitled at times and therefore act like a child.
I don’t know whether or not I have BPD, but things like what I’m talking about here have made me suspect it before. No one’s diagnosed me with it, though. I act like a kid sometimes, too, but I’m not sure if it’s because I feel entitled. It’s more like I have to win an argument or be right or be possessive or something.
You have mentioned bipolar in the past on your blog as well as PTSD, I’m not a professional but both have been diagnosed with both prior to the BPD. And there’s so much overlap everywhere. I just felt I could relate so I wanted to say something.
Thanks. It’s helpful to know someone relates. Yeah, there is a lot of overlap. I’m not sure how you’re supposed to tell the difference between the labels sometimes.
I’ve found a therapist who focuses more on whatever symptoms then the overall diagnosis. Though every now and then she’ll throw in phrases like that’s hallmark of BPD or something relating to schizophrenia (the part of my schizoaffective). And it’s been helpful (the focusing on symptoms), though I’m sometimes too obsessive on naming and having an explanation for everything.
My therapists have seemed to focus on the symptoms, too. When I bring up diagnoses, they brush it off as less important than the symptoms. I don’t want to focus on labels, but discussing the label does help me to understand things and also makes me feel like the problems are valid, that I’m not being melodramatic. It sounds like your therapist has a good balance, in my opinion.
Have I ever been there…
I’m sorry to hear that, although it’s helpful to know others can relate.
I feel like that too.
I hate being called sensitive because that was used to ignore everything that hurted me but I know I am. I also have pride but different from you I never thought that was wrong or opposite of being insecure.
It’s hard to be like this.
It feels like everyone else has better connections with other people and I can’t start a relationship and I know it wouldn’t work because I’m always the outsider that watches others getting closer when I keep failing.
Thank you for this post.
I’m glad you found the post worthwhile. For my whole life, I’ve also always felt as if other people seem to be connecting more than I do, at least based on my observations. I just feel like too much pride can make one cocky. I do think my sensitivity makes me make a bigger deal out of things than is sometimes necessary.
Yeah, you’re pretty much in my head there. I hate how being sensitive is supposed to be a bad thing. Can’t this damn world use a little more sensitive? There is an excellent book out there, a little old, but still good. It’s called the Highly Sensitive Person and it presents these traits as something good, not something to recover from.
I don’t think sensitivity in and of itself is a bad thing, but too much of it can be. It’s not helpful to break down in tears after every little comment, even comments that aren’t even all that critical. I’ve heard of that back, but haven’t read it (yet?). I do think sensitivity can be good, but if there’s too much of it, then maybe I do need to recover from it. It wouldn’t do to let it incapacitate me.
No, you’re right. We have to have enough of a core of strength that we can keep from crying at every little comment. But it takes a while to build that core. I just get tired of the ones who act like it is the bullied who must change, and not the bulliers. I don’t think they should get a pass. So I guess it’s a compromise – appreciating your sensitivity, but not letting it control you?
Yes, I agree with what you say about bullied and bulliers. Sometimes, though, I can’t keep my sensitivity from controlling me. I can’t do it without making myself callous about the world. I’m not strong enough to that core that can withstand the buffeting.
Adding my voice to this crowd, you could have been speaking from inside my mind. Maybe others don’t hate us the way we think they do. How I would like to believe that…
I would like to believe that, too. Sometimes I think everyone is just indifferent to me, and that’s not exactly a comforting thought, either.
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