I can be so small minded sometimes. I forget that you aren’t like me – that most of the people you’ve met, or I’ve met, aren’t like me at all. I used to have quite a complex about that. I would try to make myself as small as possible, to fit into the mold of what people want to be around. Selfless, sweet, caring, kind, devoted. There are so man adjectives to describe the kind of person that people fall in love with.
The problem is, I’m pretty certain I’m not any of those things.
When it’s quiet like it is tonight I can sometimes hear the small sound of something not quite right inside of myself, like a gear that isn’t in sync with the rest of the clock. I still try to do that, even now, fit into a fixture that I have no business being in.
As I write, the rain starts to fall, and I think maybe it’s a sign for my sadness. So deeply rooted in me that I can’t even feel it. That as I write I am smiling but have no business doing so. Under the cover of the rain, I can feel that need to cry. But the tears simply won’t come. Not for me. Not now.
The truth is, I’m a very selfish person. I have no excuse. No amount of abuse I’ve been through and no amount of torment, no matter the people who walked all over me all my life, can make up for my behavior. They are not me, they may have helped create me, but I always wanted to be better than what they tried to make me into.
I honestly used to believe that.
I was going to be better than the mother who abandoned me. Than the second mother who pushed me down again and again. Than the past lovers who always walked all over me, simply because they could. I would be a better human being. I would make beauty out of pain. I would be stronger, kinder, more descent. For a while, I thought I was just that. I thought I helped the people I came in contact with.
And then I met you. And I saw what real selflessness was. I realized, am still realizing, that I am nothing like that.
If I were braver, I would always be myself and not care what anyone else thought of me. I would be unapologetic. I wanted to be.
It’s taken a long time for me to realize I already am. But for all the wrong reasons. I love the selflessness I see in other people. Even as cynical as I am I have always believed that there is a genuine good in people, even the most horrible people.
But not in me.
Because I’m not like anyone else. It sounds narcissistic to say that I think. But I’ve been told that my whole life, by everyone. I didn’t know why. At times I even thought it was a compliment. But I’m starting to get that maybe it was said in sadness, in regret for having known me.
You who are selfless. You always meant it as something kind. But I don’t deserve kindness or luck or dreams come true. I work for them nonetheless because I am determined. It used to be because I wanted to help people. And I still do. When I see myself as successful, I see myself giving money to people who need it. Giving smiles to those who might otherwise cry. Giving my words to the world like some precious gift that they might hold and look upon and feel from.
I only started to realize today that all the beauty I wanted to give is cold. The kind you look at but can’t stand to touch, like an explosion or a trainwreck. Something artful but horrible all at the same time. I am sad and that comes out in my words. I am not like other people and that comes out too. And I find myself wondering if I am draining the world dry, sucking it all in to the emptiness I feel just to feel…something.
My mother kept telling me I was born to grow up and do great things. But great doesn’t always equate to good. It just means large or life changing.
My biggest fear has always been disappointing all the people around me. Never being good enough. But I’m not good. I’m different. And I think that means that I deserve to be surrounded by people who are as selfish as I am, because at least then we’d know we were going to hurt one another.
It’s that I don’t know who or what or why I am anymore. And I’d like to believe that that is okay. But deep down I know that it probably isn’t. That even with all my honesty I will fade like fires in the oncoming rain. And a part of me is alright with that. A part of me believes it would be better that way. But another part wishes to fight tooth and nail against that outcome. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.