The Laughter of a Churl | Teen Ink

The Laughter of a Churl

February 9, 2015
By AlexHeller DIAMOND, San Mateo, California
AlexHeller DIAMOND, San Mateo, California
60 articles 2 photos 16 comments

Favorite Quote:
Live with intention. walk to the edge. listen hard. practice wellness. play with abandon. laugh. choose with no regret. continue to learn. appreciate your friends. do what you love. live as if this is all there is. -Mary Anne Rabmacher

Maybe it was because I was sad.
Or maybe it was because he actually is funny, but for some reason I found him hilarious.
Everything was so heavy—my eyes, my heart, my head—I didn’t want to eat for a week.
I knew that if I indulged that wish, though, that my parents would immediately notice something was up.
I didn’t want them to see my weakness.
I never wanted anybody to see my weakness.
I was INTJ.
I was supposed to be independent and strong.
And I am.
But I am also terribly weak when it comes to affairs of the heart.
If people are mean or do not find my presence pleasing to them, I cry.
I hold my heart in my hand and no matter how hard I strain I can never seem to put it down.
The seams of it are sewed into my skin and I can never hide it.
It is always there for you to see.
Upon first contact I am already trying to fall in love with you.
I try so hard—always, palm up; fingers stretched back revealing it all; begging you to accept it or crush it under your fingernail.
It’s so small, you see.
I never seem to have enough room for as many people as others hold close to them.
I put everything I have in that little heart into the person I value the most.
Maybe there will be two, maybe three at most.
But it’s almost always one.
But my love never seems to be enough.
Interesting enough; exciting enough; positive enough; healthy enough; stimulating enough.
And this isn’t about something as petty as romance.
I never thought that highly of it.
There are all sorts of other kinds of love—I’m talking about plutonic love.
I put everyone else first, always.
And I cannot live my life any other way.
I care about people so much it hurts—so much that I try to be as close to as few people as possible.
I want to foster genuine intimacy without all the bull**** and small talk in those spare few people.
I love them.
But they never seem to put me first.
I’m never at the top of their list like they are on mine.
And that always hurts.
I try to get over it, and sometimes I manage to—but at great expense of my own sanity.
I have to pour out my own meaning and value until the vial is then less than half full.
If I have less meaning, then their caring less is justified.
I wish it didn’t have to be this way.
But the tremendous care and effort I put into people cannot be undone.
I forge it hard and hot within my heart and when people do not take my hand or let go of it they shatter worlds.
The worlds I sculpted for lie under their toes and crunch under their heels as they walk away.
Hand in hand with someone else.
Why does it have to be this way?

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