Life on the End of a String.

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It’s amazing how independent I aim to be because, when it’s all said and done, I’m an attached, clinging mess.  I say I don’t need people, but I really do.  A lot.  But it’s true that our relationships – or lack of them – with other people really define who we are, how we spend time, how we think, and how we set our standards.  In the words of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, “We accept the love we think we deserve.”

And I like to think I’m undeserving of much, but I certainly accept too less.

“Too less” — what an oxymoron.

Today I spent some amazing time with someone close to me.  He probably didn’t mean to, but he made me feel normal and like I can accomplish anything.  Maybe it’s just an ego boost I get when I can see how comfortable he feels with me, like I’m some safe-haven of normalcy in our mutually chaotic lives.

But I also couldn’t help but realize how opposite I felt just a few days ago while in or lacking his company.  I didn’t feel that security then.  I didn’t feel like his go-to for normalcy.  I felt like the outlier.

I guess that’s why I so often feel like I’m living life on the end of a string – someone else’s string.  I’m always tethered to them and always dependent on them, but they’re only dependent on me when they want to be.  I kind of orbit around them, each of us caught in the eddies of our own lives, but we only collide when they tug my string and pull me back.  It’s a fragile string, but I don’t resist and they don’t pull very hard…but it’s a string nonetheless.

I don’t like feeling like a convenience.  But at the same time, I’m fairly convinced I’m the only one who thinks I’m being treated that way.  (Why am I always overreacting?)

around and around and around
aroundandaround
around

I wish I could see things for what they are.

 

 

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