Campfyre Stories

They always call me brave for stupid things.  Things people are too self-conscious to do that I do without thinking.  Even Liz called me brave the other day for something I did without thinking.  Now, I know that I’m brave, really I do…  how many people would chase the GMB around the house trying to get a decent picture?  How many people feel comfortable enough to speak their mind to people who have the power to fire them?  How many people ask the ghetto rats to ask politely for a cigarette and then jump out with “DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” when they cross the line?  I know I’m brave, but more often I’m either stupid or unthinking.

But, you know, the bravery wanes often.  Even when I do brave things, things that I consider brave either as or after I’m doing them, there’s a good measure of fear involved and there are certain rules I set for myself to prevent my heart from breaking or my ego from bruising.

My pride is not my be all end all as I know it is for some people, but my ego is a lot more fragile than I let on to pretty much anyone.  I pretend to be so full of self-confidence that it’s intimidating, but the reality is that I do it to keep my own doubt at bay.  I have a hard enough time with the doubt of others, but when the self-doubt comes into play, it’s all over.

I can’t handle rejection.  I can’t even handle perceived rejection.  I have a hard time even taking criticism, though I often crave it and am trying, at this point, to warn people that I won’t take it well, but I will take it in, think on it and appreciate it at some later date after licking my perceived wounds.

This is why I have such a hard time asking for things, whether it’s a date (romantic or otherwise), a favor or even assistance.  I just can’t take it when people say no.  I’m a pretty persuasive person and can usually talk people into almost anything, but part of that, I believe, comes from the fact that I simply cannot take it when people reject me, even if it’s just as “No.”

Little by little those rejections break tiny pieces of my heart.  They usually grow back, but when it comes in a rush, those little pieces add up and I find myself retreating into a shell of fear, waiting for regrowth before I am, once again, brave enough to put myself on the line again.  It just hurts too much for me to deal with it, but I would never let that pain show.

Emotionally cold is what they often think of me.  The reason that’s the perception, though, is because I am too cowardly to let anyone know the pain that I feel over the little things that wound me deep.

I hurt today, but I will never tell him why…  or even that.  However, I will retreat, and even if he notices, he will probably never know it was he who hurt me.  As pathetic as this may seem, I wouldn’t want to hurt him by letting him know that he hurt me.

Brave?  Not really.  Just stupid and a little too sensitive sometimes.

~FG };^>