An hour later, i have the urge to blog again. I feel safer blogging what i'm feeling instead of telling someone, and this blog will explain exactly why.
So... I've had maybe 6 best friends from high school to the present. Some people prefer not to designate one best friend or whatever, spare me your preference and hear me out. Every best friend I've had has left me. Whether it be because of indifference, relationships, or straying away (i don't know how you stray away from a bestfriend), they've all left me in one way or another. I hope this doesn't sound presumptuous, but i don't think its been me thats strayed away. My friends are family to me, and i do everything i can to be good to them..
Now as of late, I've been extremely reluctant to call anyone my best friend. A concept I've tried to keep in mind is that not everyone has the same notions of friendship and life as I do, but sometimes its hard. You're in a mutual relationship in which one would expect equal reciprocation of effort and personal investment right? Well I've learned that to be wrong. And if that sounds weird to you, well, that was my understanding of what a friendship was.
And I think now, i'm hesitant to talk to people about my problems... Because i'm afraid to make personal investments in them, knowing that i'm very susceptible to being walked away from.. I'm hesitant to call anyone my bestfriend for that same reason. Regardless, I still care about certain friends more than others (fact of life, sorry.) and because of that when i see signs of them possibly straying away i get scared. Blame my low self esteem/self concept, blame my inferiority complex, whatever it is, it happens. So a look into my life, this is how I am. Love me or leave me. But if you choose to love me, please love me in full.
I used to think my parents didn't understand me. I am the black sheep of my family. I'm just different. But as I grow older, i'm slowly learning that they know me better than I think. Sometimes I'll bawl my heart out, laying in bed in my room. And my mom will just sit there with me, and she'll keep asking me to talk to her. And i won't. She'll ask me twenty times, and finally i'll be ready to talk, and she'll be there to listen.. And for that, I am eternally thankful..
I hide my feelings because of fear, but I really do want someone to listen.. I just need a different kind of care, I suppose.
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5 comments:
i finally found someone who feels as insecure as i do! Thanks for being honest about friends, i feel the same way, but i was too scared to say anything for fear that i might sound crazy. We all have our own struggles, but it gives some relief to know that i am not the only one who thinks this way. I may not be able to uplift you from this feeling, but i understand that longing for someone to prove you wrong.
I <3 you :)
Remember when that psychic lady told you your future after she took your $10, when we went to get coffee like 3 years ago?! Ha.
I guess I was reminded of that because I remember what we talked about that night, and it was a very similar conversation to what you said in your blog. It makes me sad that you still feel that kind of hurt... you don't deserve it.
Anyway, I know we never see each other anymore, but you know I'm always here to listen. I've told you that before.
:)
i'll sit in a room with you and we don't have to say a word.
DUCKY!!!
Yea, I don't use the title "best friend" either.. for the exact same reasons.
& please don't call yourself the black sheep, even tho it may be true.. i wouldnt kno. but you're ducky. you're like the ugly duckling that turned into a swan.
& even if you turn into a swan.. youre still a ducky to me.
:]
perhaps they were not the best friends you thought them to be... or they can't see the forest for the trees and don't appreciate your awesomeness enough while you count them as best friend... and they feel it's too late when they realize what they've lost... who knows? friends are weird... sometimes you don't know why they put up with all your shit, others they'll leave you for no reason. ramble ramble ramble stop.
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