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A love letter to the ones that hold me up

Let’s just put it out there, I am not someone you would call stable. Yes, I am mature (at times), maybe even level headed, but stable – not me. To add to that, I am someone who sucks at communication, you can associate the words, boring, quiet, and to some extent solemn to my name. Now you’ve guessed it, if communication is not my strongest suit then relationships wouldn’t be up there either.  I am not particularly good at maintaining them, or sustaining them or even making them. I am, a loner, as you would say colloquially. But this loner has a bunch of people holding her up, even when she doesn’t need anyone, this is me professing my love for them.
There was once a girl, she was the quintessential back bencher (not in a delinquent way), she would live in her own world. Was she afraid of being judged, definitely, and somehow her own world became the real world for her. She went through life peacefully, building walls and fortresses that kept peasants out. She liked it that way. A few would manage to invade her fortress and live for a while, even for some years – but then they eventually left building more walls around the fortress. She was comfortable there, it was her box and she was living there in peace.
Then came the invaders, some loud, some quiet, some docile, some dominant – and they refused to leave. She tried everything to run them down – the silent treatment, attacking them, insulting them, she even let her inner demons loose on them – but nothing seemed to be working. They had made her fortress their home, they lived there with her and eventually built a small gate where she would put one head out and see the land that they came from. Did her walls shatter? No, they were still there – she never let her guard down. But these people climbed over the walls whenever they wanted without breaking through. They were the shoulders she could cry on, the tranquilizers for her demons and the headrest that kept her proud head up at any point. This was the story of me and the people I call my friends.
I don’t make friends easily, too many of them have taught me that I shouldn’t. But these guys, they’re special. They’ve been with me through all my phases, taken my idiosyncrasies and more importantly have never tried to change me. They are the protectors of my authenticity, the bags of love that are always about to burst, the ones that keep me sane and partake in my insanity, the ones that make sure I don’t delve deeper into my solace and the beautiful human beings who hold on to me even though I sometimes forget to hold on to them.
I may not say this often, but you are the reason why I feel like my weirdness is not something wrong and you are the reason why being confident comes to me naturally. Thank you for being a friend to this suck-y sulky person. It may never change, knowing me, but I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you and I do, from the innermost corner of my heart, love you.
You know who you are.

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