Small Hands and Fine Print

Music makes me feel. All the time. Song after song, playlist after playlist, I listen and feel. I'm okay with that, but I don't have a choice now, do I?

I know I talk too damn much about music. I really can't help it. It's how I relate, express my feelings, and describe the world around me. That first hum of a bow's vibration over the strings in the opening of Baldur by Osi and the Jupiter, to the hallows of Hope Sandoval's voice, if I feel it, I will never not feel it. Tie that song to an event; something that hurts, or carries extreme jubilation, then the combination of the two become synergistic. Toss in a bit of photographic memory, and a bleeding heart, and you've got impending doom. Maybe not really, but you definitely have a strong tie to emotions, good/bad/indifferent.... 

Today I decided to move away from my maniacal one song playlists and ventured unwittingly down memory lane. I pulled up old playlists with creative names like "early 2017" or "Spring 2018" and some random terms for "repeat". I pull up the playlists, and hover over "shuffle." I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it. I knew fucking goddamn well what was going to happen. 

Floodgates. That's what happened. 

Some playlists are best left in the past. Connected to painful memories, the first note activates the neuropathways of recall to dredge up the past. The activation of the autonomic nervous system triggers tears and that pinching biting in your jaw and when the gurgle in your throat tells you that you're about to cry. I felt my eyes warm with tears, and my lips swell (because I'm one of those puffy face criers), and within ten seconds of music; I prayed the bottom wasn't about to fall from underneath me. My shoulders dropped, as did my heart. Heavy realizations and knowing damn well what I was thinking about when I created that deep tie to the song. It's not like I haven't listened to this song since 2017. Just not in this context. Perhaps the context of purpose rather than passive? Perhaps the combination lock was opened, but it just needed the pull to be free. Who knows. But it happened.

The tears fell, and I found my hand feverishly writing down the lyrics that sparked emotion. Small print, ultra fine tip pen in hand, I scrawled the words out. Over and over. Chorus and bars, I let the lyrics tell the story that my heart ached to let go. 

This is were it can sometimes get weird. Perhaps intentional (most likely), the scribbles give way to a clear meaning and reason for the ache. I remembered the feelings from the year past, and the year past that...and the year past that. This running theme of being 'too much' or 'too sensitive' has haunted me for my lifetime. I've been told I'm empathic, I'm an HSP (highly sensitive person), I'm hypervigilant (thanks trauma!), and nearly any other way of being which can be described as sensitive. This really fucking hurts most of the time. 

I listen to the lyrics of songs over and over again to be able to place the emotions of sensitivity that I have. The feeling of being the proverbial "emotional girl" wherever I am, or whoever I'm with is tiring. That feeling of being too much, too feeling, too sensitive; it lingers. Being told that I wear my emotions and heart on my sleeve, and that I need to protect them is usually coming from the very people that I need to be protected from.

Then there's the absolute ridiculousness of the sensitivities. I get hurt easily. My flaw is that I forget that people don't think like me. Most people don't dwell on every action that they make before they make it, or consider every possible outcome before they speak. Not that I always do, but I find that I try to be overly considerate of other's time, emotions, and overall wellbeing and happiness. What usually happens is that I will read too far into things. A thought I was speaking to be cut off then forgotten, a respectful plea to fall on deaf ears, all triggers for feelings of pain because I was disregarded. Some of it ridiculous, but some founded, it always makes me feel the same. 

What's the point of all this? Perhaps this is me just getting shit out of my head (most likely) or venting to get it off my shoulders (definitely) it affects how I love and who I love, and how I perceive love. Like the peeling layers of birch bark, with each passing perceived pick or dig, another soft and raw layer exposed. You'd think that they would eventually callus or decay, but like exposed nerves they just sting and bleed. Always.

For this, it's incredibly hard to not feel like I'm too much for people. Whoever, if ever, I date again, they'll have to realize this. Realize the things I see, and feel, and perceive. That, when I get quiet, it's not necessarily a good thing. Someone with patience and intuition and the ability to check themselves is required. Raw and forthright with emotions is what I need, but gentle and kind. Shall this unicorn exist without attachments, please, send it my way. At least, let me admire it from afar as I listen to music and make new memories and playlists. This one shall be "Fall 2020". 

Hey! Guess what? I've been bingeing this song like a fucking CHAMP. Nathaniel Rateliff... just... I love him.