THE OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING

If I tell people what I mean at face-value, they seem to struggle with comprehending it. “I’m not a fan of this idea.” That seems to mean I am. “I’m not cold.” That seems to mean I am. “I don’t like this.” Well, I guess that means I do.

What is this phenomenon, where people seem unable to hear exactly what you say? What causes this inability? I’ve dashed away the idea that I will find someone who understands that I mean exactly what I say. Now I simply wish to be alone, that way I don’t have the intrusive decisions of others impede on me any longer. I’m sick of hearing everyone’s thoughts, where they think they know me better than I know me. Are you living in my skin? Are you thinking with my head? I do not think so. So what gives them the impression that they should be so sure? I still have yet to encounter anyone who was correct in their assumption that they know me very well. Perhaps we should realize that people everywhere are complex, and it’s presumptious to assume we can understand them at a glance?

Even worse is that these aren’t things being done out of control or malice; it comes from a well-intentioned place, and that’s why it frustrates me more. Even my own mother does it. Granted, most of the time she thinks I’m being self-sacrificial, but I’ve never before had a period of time where I felt unheard even by her before now. It seems like everyone has an idea in mind for what will help me, and it’s only after the fact that they relent and realize I was right. It would be helpful to hear me sooner. What good will your hindsight give me? Irritation?

What gives? Why will no one believe me? I don’t lie frivolously, so it’s not like I’ve built up the reputation. Do I sound hesitant? Unsure? Is a simple, “Yes,” or “No,” not sufficient anymore? I can say exactly what I want and no one will believe me; not even my own mother anymore. Before she’d be correct in looking past my indecisions. Not so much anymore.

I haven’t done anything reckless. My family and adults in my life applaud me for it. I carefully measure and weigh each decision before I make it. So why is everyone living in some unfounded fear that I’m going to “do wrong”? Is life not about experiences? How do you expect me to learn or evaluate anything if you want me to never do anything? And if you’re so sure your decision for me is correct, then why does it always work out bad for me? All it’s done is turn me off to the idea that I should take advice from others. No one knows what they’re talking about, but are so eager to feel like they’re helpful that they can’t help but put their two cents in your hand. I don’t need anymore spare change. All anyone over me ever does is get me in trouble pushing their ideas onto me; then, when I need help getting out of the mess they pushed on me, everyone wants to whistle and look at the ceiling. So help and people and ideas are equally useless. No one has anything good to offer, so I don’t go looking for anyone anymore. Then I get to feel like a fool for allowing anyone to “extend a hand” again. You can help in other ways, but I don’t need people interfering with me unwanted anymore.

I don’t feel lost. I feel sure. I know what I want, I know how to get there, and I know what’s best for me. And so far, every time I give someone the chance to see if they understand what I need, they fail me. So I can’t wait to be on my own to exercise the freedom I need. Why do I have to put up with people telling me what I should say or do or think or feel or act or believe? Why am I treated like I am uncapavle of independent thought? Must you breathe for me as well?

And it even extends to rare moments where I would seek out help in another. Heaven forbid I feel ill or stressed or exceedingly sad; I’m not haggard-looking enough on the outside, so therefore it must not be true. So I don’t go to doctors, who will not believe me when I say I am sick. I will not turn to lovers, who try to convince me that I should be interested in sex. I do not bother discussing if I feel dreary, because what is there to say if it will just be said for me? If you say I’m happy, then I am, and I will always be.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m murdered one day and it be deemed as a suicide. Despite having said that I would never kill myself, my word would never be good enough for anyone else; they always assume they know you better than yourself. It’s only right that even in death I’d be treated the same way.