I Don’t Know How to Be Neutral
I don’t know how to do anything halfway. Not emotions. Not attachment. Not silence. Not sex. It’s either I feel everything or I feel nothing—and neither feels safe.
I’ve never been good at “neutral.” I either care too much or I disappear. I give all of myself or I shut the door so tightly no one can even knock. I romanticize strangers and overthink eye contact. I replay conversations for days, wondering what version of myself I left behind in someone else’s head.
There’s no middle ground in me. I crave closeness with the kind of hunger that feels shameful. I want intimacy that feels like worship, attention that feels like oxygen. But I also push people away the second I think I’ve said too much or felt too loudly. I want to be wanted—but it terrifies me to be known.
Even healing hasn’t made me neutral. It’s just made me quieter about it. The chaos still sits under the surface, it’s just better dressed now. More socially acceptable. Less obviously messy.
I wish I could sit in the middle sometimes. To not spiral when someone texts back a little slower. To not build a fantasy around a person who barely knows me. To not feel like my love is a burden or a weapon or a mistake.
But for now, I only know how to live in extremes. Too much. Too sensitive. Too intense. Or completely numb. And neither one feels like home.