Pride

They don’t understand.
They probably never will.

Yes, I wear too much black. Yes, I get enthusiastic about the things I like. Yes, I leave my hair scruffy, and I don’t iron T-shirts. Yes, I make obscure jokes.

They look at me, and all they can see are my disguises and shields, and they don’t know how to cope. They get wary, or defensive, or feel slighted because I’m not another clone. That breeds resentment, and all the ugly shit that goes with it.

But I’m proud of what I am.

To stand amongst the ranks of the compassionate is to open yourself to every emotional attack that comes your way. By identifying with people, you take on their pain, and oh boy, this world is full of pain at every turn. Every horror-struck parent of a dying child; every disbelieving victim of storm and fire; every abused child and battered spouse and abandoned grandparent; every betrayed lover and every soulmate left behind; every relative and friend of “the deceased”…
I care, and they cut like knives.

I care.

If I get enthusiastic, if I have fandoms, it is because I care, and the characters are like friends.
If I wear black or look a little rumpled, it is because I care enough not to judge other people by their appearance, and I have more on my mind than who made the clothes I put on.
If I’m not the fashionable shape or I seem withdrawn, it is because caring about the world around me takes resources that I don’t necessarily have to spare elsewhere.
If I’m not a great manipulator, it is because I care enough for others that I don’t _like_ manipulating them.
If I’m not forceful, it is because I care enough that I don’t like forcing others into things they don’t seek.
If I need to go and hide somewhere safe from time to time — in Azeroth or Sunnydale or R’lyeh or the Delta quadrant — it is because caring hurts, and I need to recharge.

And if I have to be coy with myself, and use safe euphemisms like “care” when I really mean something big and scary like “love”, well, I’ll try not to.

Erzuile's veve

It’s a mad, unfair, vicious world. It gets its teeth into you, and kicks you when you’re down. And maybe that’s the way it has to be, because that’s how you learn — from consequences, even undeserved ones. But it can be beautiful and wondrous and inspiring as well, and maybe that’s how it has to be too.

Life can really hurt, and most people are so wrapped up in their own pain that they never open up to anyone else’s. And why would you want to? I mean, isn’t one load of pain enough? Why feel anyone else’s?
Why feel everyone else’s?
Why?!
Because if we didn’t, there wouldn’t be anyone to care — to love — at all.

And then what sort of world would it be?

Well, I love.
It hurts so much I could scream, but I love.
Deeply.
Proudly.
Unconditionally.

Every crazy, frustrating, flawed, painful being on the face of the planet. Even the ones that want to bite or sting me. Even the ones that hate me. Even the ones I get furious with. Even the broken ones, the stupid ones, the dangerous ones.

I’m not sugar-coating them, or pretending that the monsters are anything other than monsters, or even saying that everybody can or should be saved… I’m just saying that I care.

So if I’m lost in a book, or wearing a transformers T-shirt, or awkward around pretty girls, please, cut me a little slack. I’m a little the worse for some hard wear. After all, it’s not easy beating your heart on some mad bugger’s Wall.

And, if the time ever comes that the rest of the world decides to open up a bit and give their own hearts a try, then they won’t have to be alone. I’ll be out here, with the others of my tribe.

And if anyone thinks that’s weak, that it’s not the only strength worth a damn, then they truly don’t understand. In fact, they probably never will.
But that’s OK.
I still love them anyway.