When you're tired is never a good time to think, and probably not to write. Unfortunately, I'm now doing both.
What I'm writing about is what I'm thinking about, and what I'm thinking about is how powerful lies are. You may not believe in God and Satan, but I do, and that devil sure knows how to throw a good punch in when I'm alone.
It's a reoccurring thought to me, this lie that I'm finding very difficult to fight against... It's hard to put into one sentence, but in a nutshell, I often doubt my own likability and whether people actually enjoy having me around or if they just tolerate it because they're being polite... Or maybe worse, because I can do something for them.
I don't think they'd intentionally use me, but that's a big section of this reoccurring thought, and it has a lot to do with my relationships with most males.
You see, it goes like this. I'll have a friend. Friend posts sad status. I write friend. We start talking. I help friend fix problem/listen to friend. They feel happier. We slowly stop talking. Aaannnd. Repeat cycle.
Or like this week, where it happened twice in two days... People say things that aren't actually hurtful, but cause me to think that I'm just not the kind of person that is destined to make new friends and although I'll never be an outcast (I won't let myself) I'll never really fit in. I just feel so awkward.
A good example is in class at college. Teacher asks for interaction, so I interact. I want to learn, to hash out ideas, to receive feedback. Especially since nobody else volunteers much. But if I respond to every question, does that make me stand out as some kind of teacher's pet or a crazy keener? My problem isn't that I'm unaware of social stigmas. It's that I don't know where I stand within them, and I feel like it puts a huge barrier between me and other students I'd like to get to know; simply because I don't know if they like me, hate me, don't care, tolerate me because they have to... It's all behind a facade, a polite "I'm an adult and I'll treat you nicely because that's what I'm supposed to do" mask. It frightens me.
It's not just with strangers or new acquaintances either. As with the friend example on Facebook earlier, I more and more often find myself wondering how many people I thought liked me really only tolerate my existence because a) it's required, b) they can get something from me, or c) because I want to be friends with them.
It's not like I don't believe I have any friends. There is a core group of about ten, mostly from church or school and going years back, that I know truly enjoy my companionship, and I theirs. Even amongst those, however, the little lie that I'm too weird finds a hold. Those days when I want to imagine fairies because they are more fun and intriguing than real life, or when I laugh at stupid things like paper clips, or talk about something like dogs for hours and bring in facts that nobody cares about, let alone knows.
I've always revered Anne Shirley of Green Gables for her optimistic view of life and inclusion of a dreamworld of fairies and wood spirits, where sunbeams are always dancing and the ocean sings an alluring song. I've tried to model my life after hers, keeping the magic of childhood imagination alive and not caring what people think... But I've found that caring about others' opinions of me has slowly taken a stronger and stronger hold.
So now I worry about whether I will have to grow out of a world of fantasy, where telling stories, and being open about life and its pain and mystery, because it's childish and weird. I worry that I'll always be the person people ask for advice because I'm good at it (which I think is because I can imagine and empathize!) but that I'll never be the one to pursue; you can talk to a dreamer of fantasy, but trying to build a relationship on an understanding of dream's dreams isn't an option.
I don't know if I've made my dilemma understandable or not. Suffice to say that I don't feel normal, and I doubt I will ever begin to understand what is normal and when I've crossed the line. In turn that means that I'm constantly weirding people out or making them uncomfortable, and wondering what kind of person I am. Which makes me feel like I can't trust that my friends actually like me (even the good ones, sometimes).
Which makes me feel alone.
But I know I'm not alone. Even if some of that ramble is true for some people, not all of it can be true for everybody. And I do have friends that have stuck with me for years and years and still call when they haven't heard from me in awhile. In my head, that counts for something. It means that I am loved, and missed, and they wouldn't call if they didn't care, right? Right.
But just as that's all settled and decided, the little thought comes - "but what if he's just there to see your sister?" "What if she said yes because you said you'd do most of the work, and for free?" "What if she doesn't actually like you?" Finally, inevitably, it leads to the question of whether or not I'm even likable, and this battle in my head between my brain and my heart begins again.
But I do believe I'm important. I do believe that people like me - that someday, someone will like me enough to kiss me and ask me to be his wife. That someday I'll figure out who I am and where I belong in the scheme of people's attitudes.
Don't bother writing nice comments about how I'm lovely and this is all ridiculous... Everyone does it all the time after someone posts something like this. But I'm not looking for that. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't believe it because that's what you're supposed to say. I just want people to understand, I guess... And I wanted to leave my thoughts in another place because in my head they're interrupting what could've been an hour of sleep by now.
I promise though, to you and to me, that someday, I'll stop allowing myself to lie to myself.
