I have trouble expressing myself with anything less than intensity. It’s off putting, sometimes to the extreme. I have nothing more to add to that.
I do not make friends easily. I can give you kindness and be “friendly” but if you take that as an open door into my confidence, im likely to panic and slam the door shut in your face and hide behind the couch until you go away. Only a few times in my life has a person gone from aquaintance to dear friend in a very short amount of time. And of those occasions, at least twice it has ended poorly. I want and long for deep relationships with the people in my life, but it takes time, courage I don’t always have, and patience I am not always shown. I have never understood people who mistake my kindness and my generosity for an invitation into the intimate parts of my life. I was once an excellent listener, and I will listen and give comfort and advice as requested. This is not an invitation for you to share in my secrets. They are mine. You may not have them.
Those who have the patience to tolerate my moods, my craziness, my inherent moments of weakness, they will know a human who would bend the weather to her will to please a friend if possible. But rarely does a friendship develop for me on the span of moments. I am not trusting. I am flaws and broken spirit and angst. Now more than ever. Those trying to find where they fit in my life are often confused, and I am sorry for that. It confuses me too. I don’t know how to let people in and then allow them to take from me. And when I do I am quickly resentful of any assumption of intimacy. I’m not a stray dog you can feed and therefore lay claim as “mine.”
I’m rambling. This is something I just can’t put into thoughts today.
Bountiful Words, Beautiful World 