Give Me All Your Pain

1.Sense of belonging

My train of thought was interrupted by the crunching of leaves as someone jogged over them.

I released another soft sigh. I stared blankly at the playground where children laughed and played. Their innocent joy felt so distant from my reality, like a long-lost memory I could barely grasp.

A part of me longed to experience that unbridled happiness again, but it felt like an impossible dream.

I'm happy, I'm alive, I'm loved.  I chanted in my mind, in order to ground myself.

I let my gaze wander aimlessly until it settled on a little girl.

Perhaps she was around the age of five or six, a little cherub lost in her own enchanting universe. In solitude, she joyfully immersed herself in the simple pleasure of playing with soil, completely engrossed in her innocent pastime.

With her baby-cut hair and rosy, chubby cheeks, she exuded an irresistible adorableness. Her big, curious eyes were fixed intently on the soil, her little hands diligently attempting to mold it into some semblance of a shape.

She appeared so innocent and unguarded.

As a small child, I was also naïve and vulnerable, freely sharing my thoughts, emotions, and vulnerabilities with those around me. The world felt like a place of wonder, where I believed everyone was on my side and everything would go my way.

But as I grew and matured, the reality of life began to unfold before me, and I learned that the world could be a painful and unpredictable place.

Experiencing disappointment, betrayal, and hurt, I gradually developed defense mechanisms to shield myself from potential pain.

I unconsciously began to build walls around my heart, layer by layer, to safeguard my emotions from further damage. Those walls became my fortress, shielding me from potential pain.

In this process, I convinced myself that I never truly loved those who hurt me, trying to detach myself from the pain of the past.

The art of denial became my shield, allowing me to pretend that certain painful experiences never affected me deeply. In those moments of self-preservation, I unintentionally distanced myself from my authentic self.

The walls I built kept others out, but they also limited my ability to form deep connections and experience genuine intimacy. Behind those walls, I felt safe, but I also felt isolated and lonely.

The carefree and open child I once was seemed to be fading away, replaced by someone who was cautious and guarded. It was like a protective cocoon that I wrapped around myself, closing off parts of me that felt too vulnerable.

A part of me yearned to break free from these self-imposed barriers and be the open and trusting person I once was. Yet, the fear of being hurt again held me back, making it difficult to fully embrace vulnerability.

I got startled when my phone buzzed incessantly, demanding my attention as it had been neglected since my arrival at the park.

A frown creased my forehead as I glanced at the screen, fully aware of who was calling. Reluctantly, I decided to pick up the call, not wanting to test Nidhi's patience any further.

"What?"

"Well, I missed you too, baby," Nidhi's voice oozed with insincere enthusiasm. I despised when she called me "baby," and she was well aware of it.

Cutting through the formalities and drama, I got straight to the point. "Why did you call, Nidhi?" I questioned, my tone direct and devoid of pretense.

Nidhi paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts before answering. "For starters, where are you? When are you coming back?" Her emphasis on "for starters" made it clear that this was just the beginning.