I Am a Person

There are certain people I like to hang out with, that I could hang out with all day, every day. And there are some people I could hang out with for five minutes and be good for the next day or two. I won’t list any names. People always think that I’m interested in what they are, even when I’m not. They continuously shovel their thoughts into my head and forcefully pour their lives down my throat. I guess I should be honored that people are sharing their thoughts and problems with me, but I'm not. Am I qualified to know that you have a UTI? Is it really necessary to critique my outfit, when I’ve said repeatedly that I don’t care about how I look? Why me? Why must you spew forth the oil of your life, contaminating the water of mine? Why me? Why must you make a big ordeal about my water bottle, but joke that you’re not going to confiscate it? Why must you humiliate me? I already didn’t like you, and now I hate you. I hate you for making me feel singled out. I hate you for making me feel like an idiot. I hate you for calling me out on something everyone does. I hate you for thinking that I am a psychologist or a counselor. I hate you for involving me into quarrels and relationships. I hate you for rejecting me from conversations and then being bitter when I don't partake. I hate you for believing that I am just okay with this wishy-washy nonsense. I hate you for not understanding that I have feelings, and a life, and a voice, and a logical part of my brain that is telling me to stop talking to you because this is an unhealthy relationship. I hate you for making me believe that I am not special. I hate you for making me know that I am not special. That I will not amount to anything other than what you call me. I hate you for making me feel that I don’t belong. That I’m not smart enough or cool enough. I hate you for not seeing me as a person. August 25, 2017