Space

At some point in my early adulthood, I decided that not only was it okay for me to have a voice but also that it was right for me to speak and take up space. Before then I was expected to either be bright and bubbly talking about nothing, or silent. Preferably I was silent with a big smile and engaged eyes. 

But I want to be an individual – not just exist around others as they live. And so I decided to take up space and find people who allowed me room and wanted me there. It took years of trial and error, gradually become more socially comfortable and finding good people with common ground.

And here I stand. Using my voice. Taking up space. Trying to be a part of something. 

Maybe it’s just that I never gained the skills to socialize with people correctly and here I am. Maybe I’m just too crazy for people to deal with over time. Maybe I’m trying too hard and that puts people off. Maybe maybe maybe. 

People don’t want me. My voice is a nuisance. My presence takes up more space than people will make room for. I never should have empowered myself to be more than I’ve always known is wanted.

If I died, no one but my household would notice and few more would care. I honestly don’t know how long it would take my “friends” to figure it out, if ever. How fucking depressing is that? I don’t even know the last time I talked to someone outside. 

The people who care about me seem annoyed if I take up enough space to be comfortable, and equally annoyed if I admit to them that I don’t feel connected or free to use the space I need. And you know what? I love them enough and am desperate enough to have them that I’ll try to be small and quiet and not upset them with my existence. I never thought I’d be willing to play a role in exchange for a relationship.