10/21/2012

That which does not kill us may sometimes make us wish it had.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.  Big pause after each of those.

With a growing frequency, I’m feeling sometimes like I don’t belong in this world at all.  I love the world and the people in my life.  I’m just so unsure that it loves me back.  The world.  Or the people in it.

I will be happy and feeling fine, then someone I know well will make a comment that sends me reeling, because I don’t know how to take it.  I’ve spent my life reading people, and now I am so unsure if I’ve read correctly or not, and I have no faith in my capability to relate.  And I don’t want to THINK I understand when I really don’t.  Just like they don’t understand.

Nobody seems to know "the real me".  I am not particularly sure if even I know that, but I know that no one else does.  No one pays any attention to the person I am, I try to be, or I want to be.  They assign strange motivations to my actions; so often the wrong ones.  They say I demand attention.  I don’t deny that, exactly.  But I have recently again been told that I demand attention because I think I’m better than everybody else.  No, I don’t.  I have a massive INferiority complex…always have had. 

The other day, I was telling Laurie I didn’t know if I should be buried.  She asked why not, so I told her that graves seem to mark a place for a life to be remembered, and I didn’t feel that would be necessary for me.  She threw it back in my face, saying that I thought I was too good to be buried like other people. 

What I meant was that when I die, it will be better that I’m gone.  Why remember what no one wanted in the first place?