I'll Be Honest

Whoever knows me well, knows that I do not love well. I'm not a very affectionate person. I'm independent and don't like to be extremely clingy. I don't love well because I was never loved enough in the first place. If you grew up with me, you'd understand. It might have seemed picture perfect, but instead of fun family trips and happy hikes and such, all I remember is painfully loud shouting, shattering glass, and slamming of doors. That's what my childhood consisted. I don't know anything else as well. That's why I'm such a temperamental person, because that's how I learned to deal with things: get angry. There's no other way to describe.

Growing up in my family was hard. I was constantly teased about weight and my parents did nothing but fight. No one was happy, so how could you expect me to be? I'm close to very few people, and very few people know me well. You have to earn that spot. People know parts of me, they don't know the entire me. Few people know about my past and my childhood because I seldom talk about it. I hardly ever want to talk about it. I cried only once when my parents got divorced. Why? I don't know why. I just didn't think it was worth crying over because I thought it was the right thing to do.

Those people who know me well, as mentioned above, are the ones that know that my mother is not the one to teach me life lessons. These lessons are things I learned on my own, hence my independence. All my friends know I don't like to be so close to people. They know I have trust issues. They know I don't love easily, and they know I have barriers. They also know that although I can seem cold, harsh and mean, deep down, I'm not that person. Deep down, I'm indeed a caring person. Someone who's genuine, and honest. Someone who has morals and beliefs that she stands by.

And that's all I need. All I need is those few people who know the real me. Cause they understand.