Projected Insecurities
Dear Someone,
The chaos of life never truly settles, does it? I should’ve known better than to expect a quiet moment after the photos went up. It feels like the internet holds no room for silence. My Best Friend’s birthday dinner, one of those rare moments where everything just felt right, was followed by a storm I wasn’t prepared for. We looked good, we felt good, and for once, it felt like the world paused to admire us.
But the moment we posted those pictures, it was like opening a door to everyone’s insecurities. Suddenly, my friends from boarding school were all over me, speculating, questioning, projecting. They picked apart moments, made assumptions, turned a simple dinner into something much larger. The whispers of jealousy and unresolved feelings spilled into group chats and passive-aggressive comments. They turned our shared moments into something I wasn’t sure I even recognized anymore.
It’s strange how quickly things can turn. I’ve known these people for years, yet when it comes to anything close to me, they throw past judgments like stones. They forget who I was, who I’ve become, and how I’ve tried to shield myself from it all. But here I am, once again caught in the middle of their projections, their low blows disguised as “concern” or “curiosity.”
Maybe it’s my fault for letting their words get to me, for not expecting this kind of fallout. I’ve been open with these people, too open perhaps, but what’s left to say when they don’t see the person I’ve grown into, only the version they want to remember? They don’t see the work it takes to get here, the quiet battles fought in private. They just see the parts of me they can twist.
It’s funny, really. The more confident I become, the more they seem to feel threatened, and it makes me wonder do they want me to stay small so they can feel big? Is that what this is about? This need to use the past against me when I’ve long since moved forward?
I’m not sure what to make of it all. I used to think it was my job to make them comfortable, but now I’m realizing it’s not. It’s theirs. And yet, the quiet ache of feeling misunderstood lingers. Is it because I gave them too much of me, or because they took too much?
The truth is, I’m not sure what comes next. I just know that this feeling, this frustration, is far from over. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s part of moving forward. Maybe I’m still figuring out what to do with the parts of me they can’t understand.
But tonight, I write. Because that’s all I can do.