For some reason, I desire quite strongly to be understood, recognized, valued, and maybe even cherished. It's almost like I'm human or something. And yet, these things seem to forever elude me. At work, I can feel recognized and valued at least for my achievements, but not necessarily for who I am. I want people to recognize my inherent ability and aptitude--to trust my perception and ideas. And yet, I feel it is always a struggle. Providing a solution is often met with hostility rather than applause. It somehow steps on someone's feet rather than providing a much-needed relief to some ailment. I can maybe comprehend a sadness in wishing to be the one who provided the solution, but certainly not making enemies of the one who succeeded. This form of rejection often leaves me frustrated, alone, and depressed. It seems helping quite often makes people like me less. How can I be valued if I do not help? But if helping yields rejection, I feel forever at a loss.
One logical conclusion for the conundrum is to play by the rules of others. If providing solutions yields rejection, then I could simply get in line, solve nothing, and do what I'm told. For this, people would be less offended, but would I be valued? Perhaps to some extent, but it is not me they'd value. I am not one to fall in line, but rather to see, analyze, and resolve. Unfortunately, I struggle so strongly to get others to see what I see. I appear to be at the mercy of others and, quite often, foolish requirements, processes, and minds. I do not say this lightly as it makes me feel arrogant and I know others will quite readily agree, but I feel as if my daily life is overwhelmed with my suffering of fools.
I hate saying it and I hate thinking it, for I am not one to be boastful, proud, or arrogant, and I fully comprehend that I might simply be thinking too simply. I certainly have been wrong about a great deal of things. I do not have all the same expertise as others and there is no way I can know all things. How arrogant and proud to think I know better. It's been a reigning retort since I tried to overthrow the core doctrines of Christianity. I still think I am right, of course, but I must continue to suffer the opinions, spears, and arrows of the fools who disagree. Am I truly the fool? I would be mathematically inclined to believe I am. The one against the world. I must merely be an arrogant fool myself. The world cannot be so wrong and me so high and mighty to have all the answers. I must indeed be the fool.
Knowing that I must be the fool fills me with fear and rage. I cannot help but be who I am and I spend so much of my time trying to comprehend what is good and right that I fear it is impossible to learn and cease my foolish ways. I so strongly long to disassociate myself from the fool that I spend many waking and attempted sleeping hours attempting to derive truth. I seek it like an addict and yet I continue in my ways. So either I am mostly right in a world of fools or I am forever destined to be the fool myself. Neither outcome is enjoyable for me. I cannot absolve myself nor can I absolve the world. I am what I am, I think what I think, and it yields what it yields. Many people seem to be fine with this. I suppose they accept themselves and that some people simply won't like that. I feel it is worse for me, however, as I feel quite alone with no kindred spirit to find solace while all the world around me finds friendship and belonging. Alone in a crowd is the worst kind of alone. Far better would it be to be alone when people are not present--their presence would prove rejection while their absence is mere circumstance. I could survive the latter, but I oh so hate being hated.
Where are those who think like me? Where are those who see like me? Where are those who can enjoy my musings, my insights, my quirks, desires, and goals? Why must I be a shadow--ignored and trampled upon the ground? Surely I cannot be completely alone? Where is the bubble that I might call home? Where are those who get me, understand me, and actually like me? Alas, even I rarely understand myself. I am caught betwixt believing myself a genius or a fool--a sinner or a saint. I am never good enough even for myself. Perhaps if I learned to accept who I am and embrace it, I might very well be able to find such a home. For if I do not know myself, how would I ever even know if someone else did? Maybe I ought resign myself to the opinions of others? Or at least my perceived opinions of others. Perhaps my perception there is my greatest of failings and the rejection I feel is only that of myself.
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