To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” - C.S. Lewis

I came across this quote recently and was surprised of how much it had read my thoughts.

To love at all is to be vulnerable...

I'm not going to lie here. I have had my heart broken so many times its hard to keep track. It's either that there is quite a number of heart-break. Or its the amount of pain that was inflicted upon my heart. Could be both. But I don't know anymore.

Nobody knows this about me. And I'd rather not tell anyone. Personally, that is. They can read about it here. But I'd prefer if they keep the information to themselves, as I am opening myself up.

Which is part of the reason why very few people know about this blog. Sure, they can share it to the world... but they can't tell them it's me.

Anyways, the heart.

I feel so vulnerable. I think that I care too much about people. More than I do about me.

Everybody sees me as "perfect" if you call it. But in reality, I am the one who is hurting the most on the inside. Keeping it all bottled up. Then at one point, I reach the breaking point. Where it all explodes. Where I break. Down.

I grew up in a place where I took care of myself. Where no one took care of me. That's how I see it in my eyes.

I couldn't tell others about how I really felt about things, about what has been happening to me. Because I didn't feel that I should ruin their day. Because I felt that I shouldn't tell them about my worries and that it shouldn't be their problem.

So the only one who would know about anything. Is me.

It's nice that I've started this blog. So I can actually post everything on here and no one would know.

Which brings back to the me part.

I felt compassion for people, after all the pain and suffering. In my mind, I thought that it should be my responsibility to take care of people. I guess that's why I care so much.

People come to me for advice, them thinking that I'm the perfect person for the job. I give it to them, because I've been through it.

I feel the need to take care of people. To help them.
No one took care of me. No one helped me.

I'm only a little tiny speck here.

What is wrong?