I am different, and I have always known that. At first I hated it. And then I was okay with it. And then I went back to hating it, not because I actually hated it but because I didn’t understand why.
I have always been "the black sheep". I'd rather write than speak, I am overly supportive, or underly supportive. I am black and white, all or nothing. I do not ad never have known what grey is. Except that the rest of the world thinks that that is what and who i need to be, because they don't understand black and white and majority rules of course.
No matter what, I am there for people. For the people who walked away. For the people who don’t necessarily want me there or ask for my being there.
I am always texting people and congratulating them on accomplishments, like academic achievements, or wishing them well in sports or in school or to have a good break or what have you.
I text them or make a point to talk to them when they’ve seemed a little off lately, or send quotes that make me think of them just because, why not, right? You never know what kind of day they are having.
But why? Why am I always checking in, always wishing well, always so abundantly supportive of people who may not need it, or have “enough”. Why is that aspect of my personality so incredibly important to me?
What if they get tired of it? What if I do it so much it isn’t meaningful to them anymore? What if…? Well, I do it anyway. Always.
Because I don’t get asked how my first week, never mind day, back at school went – how classes are going. I don’t get prided on academic achievements or any other successes for that matter. I don’t have people who check in just because or tell me when they’re thinking of me.
And so, I do it for everyone else what I subconsciously wish was done for me. Not because I actively think that the rest of the world doesn’t hear those things, but because you really never know. And because they matter, and they deserve to know it.
Yea sure, I have the people who will ask after I ask. And that’s great, really. I appreciate it.
But does my existence matter on the ordinary days? On the days that I don’t make sure someone else knows that their’s does?
