"What If I'm Just Too Much? (And Other Questions That Keep Me Awake at Night)"

#TooMuchAndStillEnough #MisunderstoodButWhole #AuthenticityOverAcceptance #AwkwardAndSacred #DeepFeelingsClub #ExistenceIsNotAGame #AloneNotBroken

#WeirdIsBeautiful #BeingRealHurts #SeenAndStillLonely #DifferentNotDamaged

#YouAreNotAlone #FeelItAll #UnfilteredSelf #ThisIsMe #BiracialforLife

Some days I wake up and the weight hits before my feet even touch the ground. It’s not always sadness. Sometimes it’s just a heavy knowing: I’m not like most people. And that knowing feels like loneliness. It feels like standing in a room full of voices and not hearing a single one that speaks the language of my heart.

I keep asking myself: What the fuck is wrong with me?

I try to shrink. I try to mold myself into what people expect. I try to say the right thing, be less intense, less "deep," less me. But it never works. Because what they’re really uncomfortable with isn’t me—it’s the mirror I hold up. The one that reflects what they’ve buried. The one that shows them the parts they’re not ready to love in themselves.

The other day someone yelled at me, "You’re so smart you’re stupid!”

I just sat there, watching them unravel in real time. Watching them mask their fear with volume, their discomfort with cruelty.

It wasn’t an insult. It was a projection. A tantrum disguised as truth.

Because I don’t follow the script. Because I ask questions they don’t want to answer. Because I make it harder for them to pretend everything’s fine.

That moment wasn’t about my intelligence. It was about their insecurity.

And so, I end up alone. Not because I want to be—but because being fully seen feels like a rare luxury. Most of the time, I’m not unseen. I’m misunderstood. People project their fears, their discomfort, their confusion onto me. And then they call me manipulative, dramatic, too sensitive, too intense, too much.

But what if I'm not playing games with my existence? What if I’m just existing in a way the world isn’t used to?

Is there something wrong with being different? Or is there something wrong with a world that demands sameness for the sake of comfort?

I don’t want to perform a version of myself just to make others feel less uncomfortable. I don’t want to water myself down to be more “normal.” I want to be fully alive in the way I was designed to be—even if that means walking alone for long stretches of time.

I want to believe that there are people out there who do get it. Who don’t flinch when I speak my truth. Who sit with my weirdness like it’s sacred. Who recognize my awkwardness as honesty in motion.

Maybe I’m not here to fit in. Maybe I’m here to make others feel less alone in their own weird, messy brilliance.

And if that’s the case... maybe I’m not the one who needs to change.

So to the ones who’ve been called too intense, too sensitive, too weird—maybe you’re not too anything. Maybe you’re just the kind of person who feels the world in full color while others are still stuck in grayscale.

You weren’t made to be palatable. You were made to be real.

And real doesn’t always get applause. Sometimes, it gets silence. Misunderstanding. Loneliness. But don’t let that trick you into thinking you’re broken.

You’re just not here to perform. You’re here to be.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s more than enough.