To the sensitive girls who cry after movies, even the ones she’s already seen. Sometimes it’s not even a sad one. Sometimes she rewinds the romance scenes because she wishes it could be her.
To the girl who listens to the sad love songs in the car on the way to the gym.
Everyone tells her she should change to happier songs, but who wants a happy song when they’re sad. She wants to feel like someone gets her. Someone understood her so much, they wrote a song about it. She wants to drink wine and stare out the window in her underwear and listen to someone else’s heartbreak. She wishes she could pick their brain and ask them questions.
To the girl that has purchased a million self-help books and still hasn’t read them all.
They’re nothing more than home décor for her midtown apartment, where she spends most of her time. To the girl who has read them all and still doesn’t feel any different. To the girl who’s miles away from family and friends and cries at night but never tells anyone. She clears her throat before answering the phone to sound better, she doesn’t want them to worry. To the girl who keeps anxiety pills on the nightstand because she can’t sleep.
To the girl that still hopes they will end up together.
The one who plays scenarios over and over in her head. The one who tries not to bring him up anymore but can’t escape the ringing of his name in her head, like church bells and fire alarms. To the girl who forces herself on dates and hates them. Or even worse, she loves it and it doesn’t work out. Or she loves it, and it’s still not enough for her to stop forgetting him. To the girl who thinks dating apps are too desperate for her but uses it for kicks and giggles and gets annoyed when someone says it worked for them.
To the girl who spends most of her time alone because she feels as everyone will see through every smile, every joke, and at any moment she could burst into tears.
To the girl who sometimes can’t explain why she’s crying. It comes out of nowhere and there is no telling how long it will last. If a friend asks what happened, she responds with a short “nothing.” The second the word comes out; she regrets it because she knows it sounds ridiculous.
To the girl who has anxiety about being around people but is lonely. She cancels plans with friends, screens calls, but she misses them.
To the girl who has been single forever. She doesn’t know why she’s having such a hard time getting over him, but she would give anything to find someone else to fill the void. All of her friends are married or in relationships, she literally feels like the last single girl on earth. To the girl who is tired of hearing, “It’s not your time.” To the girl who’s on her third cup of coffee because she was up all night replaying and daydreaming past loves, wondering if she’ll be alone forever.
To the girl who feels too heavy and wishes she could skip this chapter. To the girl having dark thoughts. To the girl spending eighty-five dollars every other week in therapy. She feels practically naked on that couch. It’s painful right now, but she’s staying consistent. It’s taking everything out of her not to quit. To the girl on antidepressants. Some people would be so shocked if they knew. She’s a good time, a class clown and they would never suspect.
To the girl who still journals. Where else can she save her emotions? Where else can she keep him immortalized? Drenched in ink, his name would live forever. She knew it would hurt to see it, so she liked the option of keeping the journal closed. Where else can she save her emotions? Drenched in ink, the days she dreamed to be anyone else, but herself.
To the girl who says she doesn’t care about marriage, but secretly believes she’ll never be enough anyway. To the girl who closes her heart because she can’t take any more half-ass lovers.
To the sensitive girls, I have to say this.
What if our emotions were our superpowers?
Maybe it’s what we need to transition into our next chapter. Maybe it was the ingredient we needed to grow, like seeds into a plant. Maybe we had to carry it to become that butterfly. Maybe we were born to be misunderstood, to be a mystery and predictable all at the same time.
Maybe our emotions are just as important as each breath we breathe.
I hope you stop doubting yourself. I hope you use that emotion to write that song, to nail that interview, to lift that friend up.
If that’s your role in the group, then I hope you learn to celebrate it, because it’s not an easy role. I hope you learn to love that part of you because it’s important. It won’t define you forever, but it is a part of you.
I hope you learn to love the season you’re in. I hope the reason behind it all reveals itself to you. I hope you find peace in the good emotions and push through the bad ones.
I hope you strive to be at peace and not happy. The truth is bad days come with the good days. It’s inevitable, so I hope you train your mind to find that space you are most at peace in. And even after you do, maybe you’ll still be one of the sensitive girls, and that’s okay.
You’re a fucking superhero and your emotions are your superpowers.
This was written for the sensitive girls. This was written for me.