Half Sick

Half Wanted, Half Not (Written June 18, 2016)

“I am half sick of shadows,”
Said the Lady of Shalot.
I find I am a bit too well
Acquainted with this thought.

When will I find a place for me,
A somewhere I can stay?
Will there ever be a somebody
Who won’t want me to go away?

Or, more so than even that,
Will I someday be wanted somewhere?
Not just put up with, tolerated,
But thought of with kindness and care.

I’m sick of feeling like the outside man,
An observer, at best, to another’s feast.
I want to belong, to be wanted, enjoyed,
Rather than welcomed and so casually released.

I am, indeed, half sick of these shadows
Of what I wish I could truly be,
Sick of the partial acceptance, the half smiles,
From people who only half care for me.


*sigh* I know it is a spoiled thing to say, but it is true. I’m sick of being held at arm’s length. In a lot of ways it is more painful than being hated or ignored altogether. I can’t be mad, or fight with people for having positions I disagree with, for them disliking me, when they are totally fine with me. Honestly, I haven’t ever held it against people who dislike me. I dislike some people too. You don’t have to like everybody. Just be reasonable. But this partial acceptance, this half-way friendship, really hurts. I can’t hold it against anybody any more than I would against someone who hated me. I get it. Everybody has their type of person they are inclined to. It doesn’t matter if you don’t particularly dislike a person, if they aren’t your sort then you won’t be inclined to seriously care about them. I get that, I believe that, I think that is a totally natural thing. I just wish I were ever the object of that. I’m sick of the friends who make up what they want you to be, and insist on being friends with their made up version of you. I’m sick of the friends who are all excited to be hanging out with you, until their real friends show up. I hate always being the third wheel. I’m sick of being the convenient friend when nobody else is there. I want to be included. I want to belong somewhere. I want to be wanted somewhere. I want somebody to look at me and know me, and want me anyway. But you can’t say that. Never. Nobody would take that well. You can’t say that to someone you want to be friends with, without deeply offending them. At this point, I would settle for somebody I could speak openly with.


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