Friend or Foe?

Tonight, I’ve realized the lack of respect someone has had toward me. For months. I had already known this, of course, but yet now I know that it can never be gained. I cannot prove myself in the eyes of someone who doesn’t see people, but only things. Shallow and insecure, the girl lashes out at anyone she can find fault in. She refuses to change, and quite frankly, now that I know her actions against me, I am no longer able to let slide the small pieces that piss me off every time she speaks. Vanity is doomed to those too insecure to have confidence in themselves, and although she puts on a good show, this is how she lives. Full of doubt and self-loathing; constantly cutting others down to improve her self image. And though I thought her to be a true friend some day, I fear that the disrespect she has shown me as well as some of my close friends hinder that process. Perhaps even make it impossible. I am not placing blame on her entirely. I am not perfect, either. But it’s also her lack of self-acceptance of these attributes that makes the situation so infuriating. Refusing to let go and accept the mutations and quirks that everyone has makes you someone who is socially unacceptable. At least, around me that is. I cannot stand those who cannot falter. Even then, the plastic-wrapped humility she supplies makes me want to scream, rip her throat out and throw her lies onto the floor in front of her. Maybe then she would see; she would see that very little that spews forth from her mouth is fact. The fiction could fill a novel’s worth of time and still leave pages for an epilogue. I cannot take it and I am saddened that this may not be resolved. I value friendship and the idea that I may not want the empty, shell-like pretense that it was to continue, makes it even worse. I feel like the bad one, even though I have very little to apologize for. No longer can I just stand idly by and let these things continually happen. I hate gossip; I left high school hoping that I would never have to deal with backstabbing and drama again, but it seems dreams do not come true. Very little is able to surprise me anymore. No more. It has to change; I just wish I knew how it all turns out.

Misunderstood

It is amazing how no one can simply understand me when I tell them something. It really isn’t everything I say, just when I tell people that I will be alone, or perhaps the question comes up of dating and I brush it off. Do they not see? I am not…I can’t even think of a word. “Dateable” sounds so cliché and I just can’t simply put a definition to what makes me “doomed to the eternal fire of spinsterhood” for the rest of my life. I guess they see something I don’t.

Here’s the problem, folks. If you’ve been in that type of situation multiple times over, you understand how it works. You can comprehend another human being desiring you. Even if it’s not love, there’s some type of attraction involved. If you have never had that experience and you’ve been around for a while (i.e. me) then you’re that much more prone to giving up. The predestined cards, fates, whatever anybody wishes to think about how and who they will end up dating/falling in love like a bunch of saps, is not destined for me.

Why, you may ask? Well, because—*insert fake smile here*—I don’t see it. I can’t envision myself catering to a woman that I can actually stand to share part of my life with. I do not see anyone ever thinking of me as someone they would like to know intimately either and I sincerely cannot blame them. I would never feel anger over their queasy thoughts toward the idea of me in that situation, because I feel the same way. It even disgusts me more than words can say sometimes. The basic truth is—as my freshman English teacher told me—there has to be some type of physical attraction. It’s a basic necessity and one requirement that I cannot meet. Some would argue that she was wrong to tell an impressionable 15-yr-old something like that. Words like that could be forever imprinted in their self-esteem. The truth is that I would believe them now whether she had said them or I had been told in other mediums.

Personality is apparently a large utilization in achieving a likeable and approachable disposition. However, I fail at this as well. My mind and mood do not make me someone that people are clamoring to get closer to in any way. I have a general outlook on life that even the most enthusiastic would call cynical and I approach people as if they hate me before even having a discussion. I’m not loveable. I am just me. Alone and slightly away from the spotlight, as far away as those around me will let me go, because it’s easier than having a daily heartbreak.

I had a chance in high school. I was 17, she was a cute, sulky brunette with deep brown eyes who hated almost the entire world, but for some reason, we became friends. (Shocking, I know.) That girl broke my heart six months later and kept on smashing it for the better part of a year. I’m not one to go into a detailed discussion, but considering I am namely writing this for myself, I’ll put it simply; there was a first kiss involved, further actions were taken (solely by me), and I found out that night one of the simple truths about me: I am not “touchable”.

I guess you would use that term. Not much else to say. I know that no one is supposed to let something like that influence thought processes, but I have never had any evidence to disprove what was already laid out plainly in front of me. I have accepted who I am and I know that I’m an alright person. Hell, I even have good friends now, better than I had in high school in fact. They don’t know everything either, but I can share secrets that I had to keep to myself for years. You could imagine how hard I had it for the first few months; being a teenager nursing wounded pride and being completely confused not only about my sexuality, but also dying a little each day because the person you’ve been with several times will never acknowledge you as any more than a friend in public or a useful tool behind closed doors after she had too much to drink.

Admittedly, I was used, but I let it happen. I was stupid and a lot of the time I still feel that way. Hoping I know better now does not give me ideas about any kind of future. I don’t want to think about it anyway. I can’t, really. It isn’t something I want to imagine. Nothing will happen for me again and part of it is because I cannot let it. If I did not protect myself even the world’s best cardio surgeons wouldn’t be able to repair the damage left behind.

"I’ve always lived like this, keepin’ a comfortable, distance.” --Paramore