The concept of actually knowing some one makes my little brain flutter with emotions.
How do you know someone? Sure, you know there favorite color, favorite foods, the things that make them happy, and even the things that they hate. But these are just things that you know of them, not necessarily them, themselves.
I know a lot of people. Well better said, I know of a lot of people. I know many things about them. Through the course of years I’ve gotten to know more and more about them. They too have grown to know of me. But do they know me?
Do they know me? No. They know the me that I let them see. They know the person I want them to see. The person they want me to be. Why? To keep them? To make them happy? To not cause any confrontations? The answer to all of these may possibly be yes.
I would like someone, at least one person, to get to know me. Not of me. Not my favorite color, nor food, or anything that describes me. I want them to know me.
I was too scared. My whole life is in that email. To just give it away like that. It was just too much for me. I decided that I’ll put it somewhere safe and if he ever decides to want to read it I’ll hand it over.
But why am I just going to spill my soul when he won’t? I know there needs to be trust in friendships but this goes way deeper . It’s all my secrets . I don’t want to overwhelm him with everything if all he has to say is one little mistake he made.
This morning when I woke up I decided that in the notebook that we share, I’ll be writing things he doesn’t know about slowly building my way up to what I have to tell him. It’s not for him to tell me his secrets it’s just for him to see how much I trust him.
I have a rant. If you don’t wont to hear it then the door is right there *points to the door*.
OK, so lately I think working two jobs is getting to me. I have been more stressed and have been more worn out. I have been feeling down. I think I need time to myself, time to go far far away with my thoughts and just think.
One of my greatest problems is giving my all to people and it seems that I never get back half of what I give. I feel so unappreciated. I feel unwanted. I do feel needed but only to be used for other people’s purpose.
I’m tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of always complaining. I’m tired of always playing the victom. Why can’t I for once be the one with the perfect life. Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have. I like to think I am happy with the things I do and the things that I own, but I don’t, and I don’t want more. Possessions is not what I desire. Its peace. Its time. It’s just the feeling of being ok. But how can I have those things when all I feel is empty.
It’s crazy how we as human beings always have to be a part of something. We always have to feel wanted. And when we don’t, the feeling of rejection feels like fire consumming up a beautiful green forest in the middle of the night. It feels like a knife slowly erupting from within the heart cutting circulation and cutting life itself. At least for me it does.
That’s pretty much how I have felt all my life. One of my main fears, if not my number one, would be, rejection. It feels awful. One of the worst feelings someone can have. Specially when all you have ever wanted was to be part of something, to be, involved.
Everyday at work the coworkers I associate the most with and I always sit at the same table. We have marked it as our table. Not literally of course but mostly everyone knows that it is where we sit on our breaks and lunches. But some times someone new or just another random employee will sit there. That won’t make my coworkers sit else where though. They will just pull up a chair and sit around them.
It may seem rude but they are polite and say hi and offer their food or snacks. Maybe we should sit somewhere else? Maybe we should get there earlier? But we don’t.
Today though was different. I got ther last and all the seats were taken. It’s a table for four, and I was number seven. I pulled up a chair and Mr. Brown who was sitting at a near by table said, “Dam man! There’s a free table right there.”
I felt really bad. Yes, I could have gone to that table and sat alone. And even though I don’t consider my coworkers friends they are still close associates I talk to. As bad as it sounds they are there to fill the empty void I would feel if I was alone.
When Mr. Brown said that, it made me feel bad. Bad that I wasn’t brave enough to sit alone. Bad that I always had that feeling of rejection in the back of my mind that I had to avoid. Bad that I always had a feeling of being wanted. Bad that I hadto sit at that table to feel part of something. Bad because I was just using them to not feel alone.
Why are people so mean? Or is it that I just live in a ghetto city? Where people don’t give a fuck about what they say or what they do? Where they don’t care how they treat people, or let alone, if they hurt them? Where they only think about themselves?
Or maybe I was raised right. I was raised to be respectful. I was raised to be kind and to care about others. To treat others the way you want to be treated. But what if you don’t get that in return? Still, I continue to be nice. Am I too good for this city? Or am I just too humble?
At work there is a wide long cold distance between girls. Some don’t talk to each other because one didn’t say hi to the other for one day. Others because they simply forgot to invited them to a work birthday lunch, then all the sudden they are sworn enemies. All this is so stupid, but why do you girls live like this? It’s almost like they like it. But when they go home do they not feel the pain that the other person must be in? Wondering why they did the things that they did?
Then there are guys who, I don’t know why, but for fun they like to say ‘fuck you’ to each other. THERE IS NO POINT IN THIS. So why do it? Then there is that masculinity bullshit. My dick this my dick that, pussy, pussy, pussy. Who cares? Well, actually, who ever does care is one stupid person with no life goals. There’s more in life than your dick dude.
I just want to meet a genuine kind person. Not someone who at first will seem like a nice lovely rose, but then turn out to have the most vicious and sharpest thorns of them all.
I wish people would be nicer. I wish people would think before they say their hurtful words. I wish people could see how their words can affect people. I wish they could change. But it’s not up to me. That’s the sad part.