he told me he wanted to fix me.
force me out of my shell.
make me socialize more,
so I could “get over” my fear.
but I don’t understand.
or maybe it’s him who doesn’t.
because I am fixed.
this is me, fixed.
if he could’ve seen the before, he’d realize this version of me—
the one who still stumbles,
who still can’t hold eye contact,
who doesn’t know where to put her hands,
whose right leg still shakes when she’s scared—
is already the after.
I’m still awkward,
still anxious,
but those aren’t things
you can just force away.
they fade with time…
or maybe they don’t.
either way,
I’ve already learned to live
despite the fear.
I’ve already learned to live
despite my shaking body,
the nausea,
the sick feeling that never fully leaves.
he says he wants to help me
by making me talk
when all I want is to enjoy the silence,
by dragging me outside
and forcing me into crowds
when I’m not ready,
by showing up unannounced
and throwing me into plans
I never agreed to,
by filling every day with things to do
until I can’t breathe,
by keeping me busy until I forget
how much I need the quiet.
he thinks if I just do enough,
the fear will disappear.
but it’s not fear anymore.
it’s the simple truth
that I can’t give all of myself
all the time.
I need space.
I need the silence.
and if that looks like distance to him,
then maybe he was never looking close enough
to understand.
he thinks he’s trying to fix my social phobia,
but I think what he really wants
is to fix my introvertedness.
but that isn’t something that needs to be fixed.
it’s just how I am,
a part of my personality.
and if he doesn’t like that,
that’s okay.
just don’t say you like me
while trying to change me.
— мєяакι
