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I had been told multiple times that I was too much.
When I posted on Instagram and wrote a caption, I would end up receiving the error message that "your caption is too long." I was always bursting at the seams, ripping through everything that tried to contain me, overflowing the glass I was supposed to stay confined to.
I did too much for people. I was the first to bend to someone's will. I provided constant, instant gratification. I wore my heart on my sleeve.
I defended my poor heart and told people that was a good thing — that in this cruel world of heartless creatures, it was good to have someone who cared once in a while.
But maybe they were right after all.
Wearing my heart on my sleeve got it ripped apart. Perhaps if I had kept it inside of me and guarded it with every fiber of my being and every bone in my rib cage, maybe then it wouldn't have shattered so helplessly.
I talked to a school counselor once, complaining to her about an issue my aunt and uncle were facing in their marriage and how they confided in me about it separately.
I was so surprised when instead of addressing the issue at hand, the counselor said, "You know what it is about you, Sarah? You give too much of yourself to people. And they take advantage of that." She told me it wasn't even my responsibility to find a solution to their marriage issue, that was something for them to talk out amongst themselves or find someone perhaps more qualified who would be able to help them out. She said my being the mediator between them was selfish of them and unfair to me, because I wasn't equipped with the tools to help them and they were indirectly taking advantage of the heart I wore so visibly on my sleeve.
I protested a little, questioned her. Asked, wasn't it okay for me to help out my family?
She responded with another question. "Are you the friend your other friends always confide in?"
After moments of hesitation, I responded with a "yes".
She smiled at me. "That, sweetheart, is the biggest issue here. You have to remember that it is not always your responsibility to solve other people's issues. Sometimes we all hit a wall. And that's okay. Be approachable but don't be discardable, you know?"
Her words struck a hard blow on my heart.
Maybe that's how he found me. Maybe my shining, waiting-to-be-pumped-of-blood heart caught his eye from across the room where we met. Maybe the fresh, innocent red color of my heart drew him to me.
Now my heart is not so red anymore. It is dull, frayed. Seamless and patched. Cut, bruised.
Broken.
I think of it now, and maybe that's what I was to him. Too much.
And yet, despite being too much, I was still never enough.
