“You don’t like difficult conversations,” she said. “And it’s obvious.”

I laughed.

Something dumb followed “Who needs therapy when you’ve got sarcasm?”

She didn’t smile, she Just looked at me.

I felt exposed.

She wasn’t wrong. I dodge emotions like they’re bullets.  Tell a Joke, Change the subject, Retreat.

It's not that I don't feel things—I feel everything. I just never say it out loud.

The truth? Vulnerability makes me itch. Like I'm dangling off the edge of something, and if I say too much, I’ll fall. So I stay on solid ground. Always composed, Always “fine”.

I’m so tired of being fine.

People think I’m emotionally unavailable. I don’t correct them.

I’ve had good people drift away. Not because they didn’t care, because I wouldn’t let them in. They’d ask things like, “What are you thinking?” or “How do you feel about us?”

And I’d freeze. Make it weird or  say something that sounded clever but meant nothing.

Deep down, I wanted to say everything. I just didn’t know how.

I choose when I open up. How much, To who.

I psychoanalyze. I assess. I measure risks. I don’t do this to manipulate. I do it to survive.

If I know what you're thinking, you can't hurt me. If I keep it light, I won’t get left.

But still, people leave.

Yesterday, when she said that line, I felt it. There was a small shift.

“You make everything a joke,” she said. “But it doesn’t land when we’re talking about real things.”

I wanted to defend myself. But I couldn’t.

Because I knew she was right.

Later that night, I sat alone. I kept thinking: When did I become like this?

I’m not trying to push people away. I just... don't know how to be held without flinching.

Still, I want try maybe with the people who stay long enough to see through the jokes.

Maybe that’s the first step.