Who I am and How I Feel

My Attempt at Honest Vulnerability

I saw a video yesterday filled with quotes, quotes that describe how I feel perfectly. There were eleven of them, but I’m going to give you one, the most important one.

“I’m so pathetically intense. I just can’t be any other way” -Sylvia Plath

The Bell Jar was my favorite book when I was sixteen, shortly after I was diagnosed with Bipolar II disorder. I probably have read it over five times and am planning for it to be my next read as well. I felt heard, and understood, and I thought to myself, maybe I’m not crazy, maybe this is just a different version of normal, not the one we’re taught. Sometimes I feel like the world is ending and sometimes I feel like nothing will get better—but yet, I’ve made it a long way since sixteen, and I continue to persist. My mental health has not gotten easier. Being a self-aware adult comes with it’s own host of problems but so do all the diagnoses, all the medications, all the stigmas, all the societal pressure to be “resilient,” something I’m told I am, but will never be.

She’s known for “Confessional Poetry,” something I used to be afraid of. How on earth can I lay out all my problems and the intricacies of my mind without being judged, without people thinking I am less, without people being concerned for me. But here’s the difference between then and now, I’m not afraid anymore about what people think of me. I am done trying to be a dulled down version of myself in order to be more accepted, loved, and worthy. As Sylvia Plath said, and I mentioned earlier, “I’m so pathetically intense. I just can’t be any other way.” Something I have always said is that I have “big feelings” and that it’s hard when they’re negative—but feeling so deeply, so genuinely, and so honestly happy, is something I will trade off for the big and the bad.

Maybe it’s not even bad, though. Maybe it’s okay. I let things pour over me, I feel consumed by them, and I get knocked off my feet—but at least now I know how to get up. I know how to accept the feeling, acknowledge the feeling, and let it consume me, at least for a little bit. And when you honor the feeling and pay attention to it, you reach a level of self awareness that serves you. You get scars from the lows but more light in your eyes from the highs. You become more complex, more aware, and yes, more intense. Extremely intense and exceptionally potent—but can’t that also be power? Can we use the intensity as ammunition to be the force we’ve always wanted to be.

I’m a lot, I know I’m a lot, I get told how “much” I am constantly. But I think there’s so much beauty in having the big feelings, being in tune with your emotions, and having the courage to express them. If I could wave a magic wand and take away everything I struggle with, I wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t be me.

Yes, I am intense. Yes, I have a lot of feelings. Yes, sometimes I will cry and cry with no end in sight. But I’ll also not be able to contain my joy, I’ll laugh so much my stomach hurts, and I’ll cry, but for a happy reason this time. Both the happy and sad tears are as valid and as useful as the other.

Here’s the thing, I’ve tried the alternative. I’ve tried to feel nothing. And living in a state where I’m constantly floating is not for me and feels inauthentic.

So I will continue to be who I am. I will continue to be intense, I will not tone myself down, I will let feelings consume me, and I will stop putting weight on how other people feel about that.