Too Much.

All my life I’ve been told I’ve been too much. I was too loud or too hyper, I was too fat, I was too sexual, I was too intense, I was too mental, I was too forward, too honest, too emotional, too caring, too sensitive, too complicated. I have spent my life trying to shrink and conform into what other people expected of me so I could be loved. And bits of this ‘too muchness’ have come out in bursts of mania/hyperactivity when everything is ramped up, made more extreme. I chased addiction, codependent relationships, experiences that pushed me to my limits.

You know I am starting to really just love myself exactly how I am. And keeping myself safe at the same time, being more cautious with myself, not pushing myself into extreme situations, being aware of my boundaries and actually reaffirming them so I am not jeopardizing my health and wellbeing.

But it turns out I am still too much. Because I love too fiercely, I lust too heavily, I am too needy, too demanding in my need for reassurance, to be accepted.  Life’s cruel joke, that all my life I was made to feel too much for everyone, until I chipped away at myself for so long that I worry that I am not enough.


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