"You're too intense."

That was one of the most memorable things I'll ever remember her saying.

Before I get started, though, today's her birthday, and I feel this is an excellent time to send some love quietly. She probably doesn't realize I remembered her birthday, and it's too bad that I haven't heard from her in almost two months to the day. Oh well. Happy birthday. I miss you. I hope you're healthy, I hope you're happy, and I hope you're safe.

She was one of my closest friends and one of the three whom I cried my heart out to after the episode that concluded yesterday's post. Despite being the oldest of the three, sometimes I felt like she was the most naive and not full of understanding, but that never took away from feeling like I mattered to her. Sometimes I can't tell if she was forgetful about what exactly I was so panicked about such that it didn't much affect our day-to-day since, or that she knew what she knew and never changed her belief about me. She was one of my incredibly few people. She was someone whom I could talk to or see regularly, someone to have discussions with about budgeting, food, music, relationships, life, love, sports and all sorts of other things in between. I have a hula-hoop-sized circle of people that I would consider are close to me, and she was way in there, unquestionably the closest one.

Feeling like I matter to someone is often a little badge I wear with quite a bit of pride. In today's world, where spending less than 24 hours a day and less than seven days a week of not doing something productive or contributory is considered an embarrassment, being able to be included in someone's time in any meaningful way has always felt special.

On nights where we would be out, particularly to events at a club where she's often one with a microphone, she would have no fear plugging my relationship status to the crowd. Eventually, it was almost humorous because it simply felt the night wasn't close to being complete until she announced I was single.

Granted, I always appreciated it (with zero results, but I digress). I always felt timid every time it happened, especially when it became expected. I knew it was going to happen, and I still couldn't psych myself up about it.

Has anyone else been on either side of this situation? What happened, and what was the result? I'd love to hear about your experience. On a personal note, if I got asked to go chat up Person X because my friend is super nervous and needs the ice broken, I can do that no questions asked. However, when it comes to my interest, I can barely get engaged, let alone stay engaged.

Easy.

I've grown up as a very guarded and very protective person. I've grown up bottled up with emotional intensity and have struggled to share it freely ever since my first memories. I've grown up feeling like my feelings have been so far off the spectrum to the everyday person, so I have spent nearly the entirety of my life not allowing my emotions to be evident. It was easiest to do that because ultimately it was relatable to whomever it needed to be relatable to, or at the minimum, I would avoid getting told what I felt was wrong.

Without sounding like a psychologist, I can only imagine that spending the near-entirety of my life being emotionally withdrawn means the times I do share, especially to people who consider themselves familiar with me, can feel like a very polarizing experience.

Always on, but always filtered.

It wasn't the first time that I've heard "You're too intense," or "You're too much," or anything of the sort. That said, I've never understood why when I would ask, and I would never get an answer about how it just wasn't the right thing if that makes sense.

Do you know anyone who is "too intense" or "too much?" Is it you? Have you heard those things? How did it feel, and what did you do to handle it?

It is challenging to experience and understand because this is a world where we are supposed to be ourselves and not worry about what other people think. We are supposed to be beautiful, unique creatures who are supposed to embrace what is passionate to us and share it with the world and carry no inhibitions, as long as it gets done healthily, of course.

I asked her what I'm supposed to do if I'm "too intense" because it feels like I need to adjust my way of feeling to satisfy the limits of someone else's understanding. Since that person cannot cope with how I think in a way that is in their spectrum, it's my responsibility to tone down what's passionate to me. It's my responsibility to be less than 100% so that I'm close to the same wavelength as the other person. Can anyone else relate to that, whether it is from feeling filtered or because of needing filters?

I feel I'm labelled as "too intense" because I feel like I see or experience the world in a way that is different from many. It feels like my perception of depth, vibrance, creativity, and sensitivity is wrong or a problem.

"Give it your all," but only until all of you is way too much to be given. How does that make sense? It doesn't.

"You love too much."

Have you ever experienced a moment in your life where you felt every fragment of your existence entirely fall apart?

Think of that one more time. I'm not saying "fall apart" like the feeling like things are overwhelming and out of control, or you had an intention, and you're scrambling because things didn't go anything as you wanted, or any other metaphorical version you can think of about "falling apart."

I'm saying "fall apart" like every connection in your complete existence has vaporized. Mortar in all the buildings around you turned to dust. Molecules lose their bonds, and all the atoms vanish in their directions. Every strand of DNA in your body ultimately having its chains shattered, and you see and feel your entire existence fading like dust in the wind.

Yeah. Something like this.

I'm saying "fall apart" like you felt your entire existence get derailed because of something you experienced disrupted entirely one of the most, if not THE most, fundamental values of your life?

I can remember everything about that moment as if it was yesterday. We haven't said much to each other in a while previously because our relationship was feeling strained. We were going through another one of our ebbs and flows of being absolutely nothing but ultimately everything.

I saw a post she had on Instagram from a little while earlier suggesting how people around her are negative about her decisions without knowing her whole story. I've seen those posts before, and I've been the support. She's used it for years, and this should have been no different. Right or wrong, everyone deserves to have their point heard and then talk about what to do next.

What would you do in that situation? Would you let it go and consider it as nothing but another piece of social media toxicity? Would you want to help someone who is struggling? Would you do something different?

Me, I help. It's what I do, and I care. If that person is important to you, the right thing to do is to care.

Hands up if this feels real.

I've known her for close to a decade already, and every time we were apart, our time back together made the relationship more potent than ever before. She was always many things to me, not many more being as important as her being my best friend and me being hers. The late-night calls to settle down her anxiety, or being called one of her three pillars of support, being called her angel and being given more than enough moments of gratitude from her in thanks for letting her be whom she wants to be, comfortably, and not in the shadow of another were a mere few examples of how I felt I was doing the right thing. The support we provided each other was timeless, limitless, and priceless. Or, at least it once was.

Have you ever been misled about the feedback you get? If you do what you consider good things and constantly receive positive feedback and gratitude about those good things, would that not be a reason if not an inspiration to continue to do the good stuff? Communication is essential here.

I ended up stopping by to check on her a little while after her previous post to see how she was doing. To remind her that she's living for herself and not for others. Also, though, to tell her that I was worried. She's insisted time and time again that I'm her best friend, and I'm the support. She needs me.

She needs me. I can still hear those words through her tears from years ago.

"I saw your post. Come on, what happened? You're yelling to the sky, so why aren't you asking for help when you're hurting? You keep telling me that I'm your best friend, so why aren't you talking to me about something wrong?"

Let's record-scratch for a moment. Stop reading this for a second (but don't go away!) and ask yourself about your best friend. Do you have one? What does that person do for you? What does that person do with you? What does that person do TO you? Come back on all that now and ask yourself if your best friend is a "best friend" or "probably the closest of the people I know, but I could take it or leave it."

I learned that day there was a difference. "I don't know, and I just ... you just ... it feels like you love too much."

Loving too much, that's a thing. Did you know it was a thing? Do you think you can love too much?

Facts aside, my understanding of love deteriorated the moment her words hit my ears. The place, the time, the weather, the sights, the sounds and everything else at that moment became ground zero for the newly-created black hole of my understanding of life.

Welcome to my blog. Here's your menu.

It's a fun story so far. What are your thoughts? I'm hopeful you're going to appreciate this pattern of storytelling because I've always felt it to be essential to build context when having a point to make. With that said, and now that context has generally been created, the issue of all this follows.

Having an epicentre of life-altering trauma is likely not a unique experience. Can you relate to it? Some people take it to rebuild, and others use it to recover, and many run while plenty relapse. Me? I honestly wish I could pinpoint what I did because it felt like a never-ending blur.

After that moment, there was silence. Distance. Non-existence. How could I even pretend to be the same person in the same universe if what was genuinely natural and effortless love was wrong? Time passed. Weeks and months, and I would get message after message from her. Small and straightforward messages that I couldn't engage with. Things felt different.

The difference between her and me was that I eventually actively tried to bring us back into each others' lives. After months and months, we finally got back together for a coffee, and it was almost as if we never lost time, but I could still feel something was different, and something felt like she was struggling.

I will save those details for future posts. For months, we would be acting like magnets again. We would react with each other intensely when close, except we were both on the same side and kept the other pushed away. We were both hurt, and we were both scared, and we were both confused.

"Love me!" she once cried on the phone after recognizing that I stopped reciprocating the feelings countless times. I loved her dearly, and I still love her dearly. She was my best friend, not a moment in time.

Have you found yourself getting stuck having to be someone that you're not? Have you found yourself not showing love because you don't know how to "do it correctly?"

There ended up being a point where it all but ended. Our conversations diminished, and our connection faded. I would try to reach out and receive no response. My best friend was gone. I felt abandoned but learned to accept that her promises weren't the same as mine. I was hurt, and I was hurting. But, I was grounded.

What are your thoughts on promises? Do you think deeply about making one before you commit, or do you jump to it because it sounds nice and you hope for the best after?

Me? I don't make a promise I have no intention of keeping. Heck, that's why there's this blog now! I made a promise to her years ago, and through all of our ups and downs and the ins and outs, I kept that promise. I continue to fundraise every year and raise awareness for mental health disorders. I made a promise to her to never let anyone take her out of my life again (where she did the same, but, well, here we are.). I promised her because they were real intentions with real reasons with real purpose and real value.

Near the beginning of last year, after a long, long period of silence, I got a message from her. She found out about a promise I was continuing to keep. She apologized for the distance, the loss, the grief, the confusion. She said she loved me, and she said she'll always love me. It was a very confusing message.

Do you ever get messages that sound like your world makes sense again? What do you do?

Me? I stayed confused because nothing in her messages said she wanted to put what we had back together. Nonetheless, that didn't mean I didn't try. For the following days and weeks, we kept in touch. Things were going back to the same as when it all began so many years ago. We were on a course to repeat history, but knowing how to do it all correctly this time! We were going full-circle to our promises, wants, hopes, and needs, and we were doing it together! We were doing it!

And then she disappeared again.

It was one year ago, to this day, where after her last disappearance, she reached out again. She reached out to me because it was good to her, not good to us, and I couldn't do it anymore.

"Hey, I don't want to come off as rude or anything with this. I need some time and space to focus on some really important things to me right now. I think we both shouldn't speak to each other for a while. I hope you understand."

After years of promises to never, ever leave her, my own words said I needed to walk away.

Have you done that before? How did it go? What did you feel, and do you feel right about it?

I felt I lost myself that evening. I remember being alone, crying uncontrollably. I remember messaging my three closest friends at the time, who also knew the turbulent relationship I had with her, and explaining why I felt like I made the biggest mistake in my life. I explained why I felt like severing ties with her caused any shred of my authenticity, identity and reality to fade away completely. I explained why I felt abandoned, vulnerable, scared, alone and hopeless.

On this day, one year ago, I lost the closest thing I have ever felt to being complete and instead had to explain why I felt like my entire existence faded away again, like dust in the wind.

I said I was going to do this, so here we go.

Right now this is nothing but a quick "Hello World," if I may. I've been suggested a few times to write a blog and it's probably a great time to start now. Tomorrow is when I'll actually post something in the spirit of this blog.

My goal is to use this as a place that can double as a journal but is oriented around communication that feels left with me. Whether it was things that were said or something I experienced, I want to use this as a platform to share how those moments linger and resonate. I'm hopeful that letting myself be vulnerable will give you, the reader, inspiration in some way. Whether that lets you feel not alone with your similar thoughts, or to feel empowered by having something to share with me, or to feel excited by asking questions about something you find interesting, or whatever else that strikes you I will be happy to share that inspiration with you.

Posts in this blog may be positive, they may be negative, or they may be a cryptic mess of uncertainty, but that's all subjective and up to you to interpret.

Thanks for stopping by. It means a lot to me already.