I am exhausted with being me.
Not a day goes by when I don’t consider “If I left all that I know and started again, would I be happier?”
Being the odd one out in every chapter of your life is exhausting. I am the person who everyone turns to in times of need but doesn’t really want to be friends with. I can only assume I’m a “small doses” kind of person.
How fucking pathetic is that?
I’m the back-up plan. The one who people will call if nothing better comes along. But the thing is, I’m not ok with that.
I would rather stand alone, than be a last resort. I am far too good for that.
I am a good person. I deserve real friendships but I am not so desperate that I will take whatever is going.
It is soul-destroying to be misunderstood your whole life…
Imagine there are 2 ways every situation that occurs in life can be interpreted – 1 is the correct way that is honestly and exactly as intended and the other is the creepy, rumour-mill type way that makes a person look ‘odd.’
Well imagine that ‘wrong way’ assumption being made every single day of your life.
I run a kindness project on social media. This is who I am. Random acts of kindness have always been something I get a real kick out of. How can you misunderstand kindness you would think?
It’s amazing how fucked up some interpretations can be when you’ve got pink hair and a ‘Zero Fucks Given’ aura.
How is it that someone who is a school teacher, does voluntary work, coordinates kindness projects in the local community to help those in need and who regularly helps and meets with the homeless can be viewed with suspicion?
I am avoided.
No this is not paranoia, this is fact.
I am treated like a leaper. There are awkward glances in my presence. Conversations often stop when I enter the room. Social occasions I organise, end up with me arriving alone whilst all other cancel at the final hour. Each and every time.
I don’t deserve this.
If I scrunch my eyes up tight enough and click my heels together, could I be gone from here? Could I wake up in a place where no one knows me? Where I am not tarnished by my dysfunctional upbringing, my diagnosis, my string of failed friendships and my general oddness.
If I could start again, I could pretend. I could act like all the others do. I could read the celebrity magazines, I could laugh and sneer and bitch over girly nights out fuelled by self centred -ness and Prosecco. I could contour my face and streak my hair with honey highlights. I could watch television and actually give a fuck about the latest drama in the world of Kardashian. I could make Christmas lists that request Michael Kors, & Gucci.
36 years of practise and I still can’t get it right. You see the main character is established, but the setting’s all wrong. The 2 don’t complement each other. I need a new setting and a new cast of characters.
Generally people fall into 2 camps: blood is thicker than water or friends are the family you choose for yourself.
But what if neither apply. What if you’re the black sheep of both friendships and family?
It hurts. It really fucking hurts.