I could feel the frown on my face and I couldn’t make it go away.

I don’t think I was meaning to frown. But there were so many people. Or it felt like so many people. And they were crowded around me. And then they were asking questions and everyone was talking and it felt like the air was stagnant because of them. My skin began to crawl but it had no where to go.

She was asking me if we could have lunch. Was that okay? And I had no time to think. If I said no, she’d be hurt or wonder why or think I wasn’t okay. I said yes because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you feel like this? Be with people? And she was trying to care for me but she doesn’t understand the words I use to speak.

And the freaking people! Just give me space to breathe!

So I sat there. Fuming. Undone by the chaos around me. All I wanted to do was stand up and scream


I was mad all day. She basically asked me why I didn’t like this group of people.

Because they are painfully insecure. Because that insecurity manifests itself in constantly needing approval. Because the collective maturity level is painful. Because the lack of professionalism drives me insane. Because I believe there is, in fact, a proper way to present yourself. Because I have no tolerance for lack of consideration for the people around you. Because I’m sick and tired of the selfishness. Because too many of them need to hear their own voice.

I don’t like them because I am forced to be a part of them. And because I am becoming more like them the more I spend time with them. And I don’t like the person I am around them. I don’t like my selfishness that comes about in response to them. Because I don’t like that I get so irritated that no one is being considerate that I join them in rudeness as well. Because, when I think about who I am around them, I don’t like myself. At all. I hate this environment.

Obviously, I didn’t tell her all of that. I told her that I thought the group was awkward and insecure. She said she had hope that we’d change. She said there was still room to grow. She didn’t understand. She asked why I felt this way. She asked if there was anything she could do differently to improve the situation.

She doesn’t understand. And that’s what I need. I need someone to understand and accept what I’m saying. I need someone to agree. I need to know I’m not crazy.

But…maybe I am. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with the group. Maybe it’s all just me. I am it’s only problem.

She doesn’t understand. She can’t.

She’s one of them.

You see? I’m a horrible person. How did I become this?




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