On My Own

I was pondering something this evening about how I deal with people. I tend to have a hard time trusting that people continue to want me around. I have had the conversation with people in the past about how that sounds like I have low self esteem. That is not the case. Tonight I came to a clearer understanding of a couple things.

I am someone who, when I like someone, I can’t get enough of them. I like to be around them as much as possible. That’s something that Ian and I shared. This is how for three years, we would spend nights together playing Rock Band for hours and hours. I’m talking six to twelve hours at a time, singing until we were hoarse. Every weekend, Maybe more than one night each. Once he started working with me, that eased to once a week, or even every other week… But it was still a constant. He and I couldn’t get enough of being with the people we loved. I never doubted his enthusiasm, I never wondered if he was sick of me.

He’s the only person (aside from my mom) who I’ve never worried about that with. Because I’ve observed that most people are not that enthusiastic. In my experience, people get sick of even the best of people after too much time together. I know I’m cool. I know I’m a good friend; loyal, caring, loving. But I know that I’m not perfect. I know that I am nothing terribly special. Not anything bad, by any stretch, but I’m just a person.

That’s why I tend to back off after a while. I haven’t touched base with his family in town in a while, because I have this sense that I’ve reached that point with them. I’m concerned that they like me just fine, but that I am a bit of a nuisance, and I’ve been around too much.

It’s not a self esteem thing. It’s just that I don’t trust people to not get sick of me. Either that, or forget about how much they like being around me, and just move on without me.

I miss the nights we’d hang out. I miss feeling like my company is not only desired, but preferred. I miss the security of having a friend who always wanted me around. Who’d talk to me every day with few exceptions. I miss knowing that if I touched base, I’d at lease get a long text conversation out of it, if not an invite over to hang out.

I miss him. I don’t want to be alone, and I am, because no one else gloms on like we did to each other.

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