A Walking Tornado

In my life, I feel like I've tried my hardest to always be liked by other people. I've felt like I've often sacrificed bits of myself, or huge chunks of myself, in order to make others happy. But it seemed that no matter how hard I tried, or how heroic my efforts, people always got tired of me or left me or just didn't care at all. They didn't see me trying, they only saw my failures. They always seemed to find someone else better or less troublesome, or just different entirely. This goes for friendships as well as relationships. It's not all about romance. It's about human interaction. And somehow, I always keep falling short.

So in the last few months, I've gone out of my way to be a more genuine me. I stopped trying to please the world, or fix everyone's problems, or be a hero. I lived rather selfishly, in fact. I didn't give people any chances to screw up, because frankly, no one else ever gave me those chances. So why should I? I became more like the people I knew, and less like the person I used to be. And it felt rather liberating. Freeing. And it didn't feel fake this time. It felt like this was actually me. The me I was always so scared to be, for fear no one would like that person. And I thought to myself, perhaps this is the key to actually finding real people who don't want you to change and who accept you in all your fucked up glory?

But you know what? No one has been able to handle it. Now, I'm not a mean person at all. But my genuine self is honest. Perhaps unapologetically so. If you displease me, or say something I don't like, I will tell you so. The old me never would. But the new me did. And guess what? People don't appreciate that. They get all moody and sensitive and annoying. How does a person win? Lying to people to tell them what they want to hear, only leads to me being unhappy and unsatisfied, and they leave anyway. But the truth is like slapping someone in the face because they prefer a pretty lie.

I fell like I've cut this swath of people into broken pieces, with the tornado that is the real me. I'm sarcastic, I'm honest, I'm funny, I don't take things too seriously all the time, I like to be playful, I like to wear my extreme dorkiness as a badge of honor. I've taken off the mask, I've stopped hating everything about me, and yet, people are running even faster than ever before. I've been called crazy, a bitch, a weirdo, an asshole, a conundrum, a tease, a terrible person, rude, annoying, and attention seeking. I'm at a point where I just want to throw up my hands and give up. What the hell do people want from me? From anyone? They want someone to coddle them and lie to them and be a hero, yet that makes them see you as weak and a pushover and then they stomp out your life force, and simply move one.

I don't want to stomp out anyone's life force, but I'm sick of lying about everything too. Maybe I just don't know how to function in society? I don't know how to play the game, because no one ever told me the rules. Shall I lie sometimes, and then be truthful at others? Should I pretend to care about things I don't care about, when in fact, it'd only hurt later when inevitably I can't pretend to care anymore? And when I say 'pretend to care' I'm not talking about someone's feelings, I'm talking about their interests and what not. If I say I don't like something, how is that hurtful? Hell, 90% of the people I meet don't have a single thing in common with me, but I can't help that. They don't apologize for not liking the same things I do. So why should I pretend to care about something I don't?

And when people share their sob stories and their problems, I still listen. I still try and be a good person and friend. Yet the minute I have a problem or something I want to share, they're 'busy' or I get the 'yeah' 'uh huh' responses, to where I know they aren't paying attention. So it makes me less likely to pay attention to them the next time they come crawling to me for an ear to bend. Does this make me an awful person? Maybe it does? But I've been the other way, constantly listening and giving and helping, with nothing in return, and let's face it, I'm fucking tired! I've got enough of my own bullshit to deal with. I can't save you. Who's gonna save me?  Where's my fucking hero? All I'm saying, is it so difficult for people to give and take? Why must they always take from me, and never expect to give back? And why should I feel made to be guilty if I simply stop wanting to listen when they won't listen to me?

I've been told lately that I leave people out in the cold too quickly, and that I'm like a tornado blowing through their lives. I'm only there for a minute or two, but that's all it takes to completely destroy everything in it's wake. But I don't mean to. I'm just simply tired on the inside. And you'd better be one of hell of a person to wake me up and make me stop tearing shit up and just stay still for more than a minute. I've been told in the past that I'm too needy. Yet, you know what? There are more needy people out there in the world than I can even count, and I'm nothing at all like them. I've stopped actually needing people years ago. Mostly because  there was no one who needed me, so what else do you do except learn to live entirely self reliant on the inside. I feel like now, people want me to be needier, as if my independence is intimidating to them. But the world made me this way. If you actually cared, you'd try and fix it. But instead I simply blow right past and never look back. It's not as if someone ever tried to stop me. They all just let me go. And if I'm not worth chasing after, then it's not worth my time to stick around, then is it?

Perhaps life has made me into a monster? But I still have a heart. I still have love to give. I still have patience and a comforting ear. But I absolutely refuse to give these things to people who won't give them back. What does that make me? Mean? Cold? Heartless? I don't think so. I think it just means I'm not a fucking saint. It's not my job to hold everyone's hand while they figure out what they want in life, when their answer is always, "not you," as they skip off happily after my tireless work is done. They used to be the tornado's ripping through my life, but I've built a bomb shelter. And if you want in there, you better be willing to prove you're worth it. I'm done playing saint. I'm done being left in the rubble of someone else's damage.

And if this means my life is lived alone in a fucking bomb shelter, then so be it, I guess. I can't go back to who I was before. No one liked her either. And no one likes this person. So perhaps I'm just going to take a break from the world for awhile. And if anyone wants me, knock on the door of the bomb shelter, but don't come empty handed. At least bring some wine or some cookies. Or both. And then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you come sit in here with me. If you're brave enough.