“You women are crazy. If she’s your friend, she’s just expressing herself in a healthy manner. If you hate her, she’s a whore.” Wise, wise words from a not so wise man.
He had a point though. It’s all subjective- the labels, the categories, the way we filter people through our respective lenses and then forever leave them there to suffer. I have an idea of how people generally perceive me. Let me tell you, if you like the crazies- you’ll be a big fan of mine.
I’m small, stubborn, loud and fiercely passionate. I’m also pretty lazy, condescending more often than not, and passive aggressive. I’m self-conscious but will never tell you, and regularly demand that you tell me I’m adorable. I, admittedly, play a part. We all do. You can be the nice guy, the serial dater, the player, the bitchy-girl, the snobby girl, the girl next door. The roles are numerous and there’s a spot for everyone.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the sort of angry girl. Vicious with insults when the time calls for it- and even sometimes when the time doesn’t call for it. Presentable, but carrying around a chip on my shoulder the size of Kenya. I don’t like strangers… especially stupid ones. How do I know if they’re stupid? I don’t. But I also like to hazard guesses about innocent people.
I’m charming, huh?
And while I know that people do categorize me, rightfully so, into a less than flattering category, I wish they wouldn’t. I wish I could learn how to not be this bruiser of a person— but that, alas, would involve some serious soul-searching I’m just flat out not prepared to do. It all branches from insecurity. I don’t care if you don’t like me because I’ve pre-emptively decided to not like anyone. And ultimately, I barricade myself unnecessarily from people who may be wonderful additions to my life. In the end, the person damaged the most by my ridiculous way of living is me.
Masochistic? Probably a little bit. But we all have our ways, and we all live in our categories. The question is, can we ever move categories? And if so, is it too late for me?