One in a million

I have never really fit in anywhere. I have always had this sense that the only reason I was in “groups” in school was because people thought they would be at an advantage if they were friends with the teachers daughter (primary) and just felt sorry for me (high school). The mates I had in university were all my boyfriends mates. I never really had anyone of my own. The one girl that was my mate stopped talking to me and never told me why. I assumed it was because of me. I was just being me. No one really likes me.

This theory of mine was only proved more accurate when in my first job, I was bullied by every single co worker of mine (all 6 of them) to the point where I would get panic attacks everyday and would have to run to the clinic downstairs to get a brown paper bag to breathe into. 

Truth or not, since then, I could never brush off this feeling that people could never handle too much of me. 24/ 7. 365 days a year of me was just too much for them. 

Didn’t help that my parents never really cared about me either. Or my sister told me to “get over it”. 

I told my ex-fiancee once that if I didnt marry him, I will not marry anyone else unless I was forced into it. For a very long time I thought it was because of how much I loved him, but as I write this now, I realise it’s  because I knew that no one would ever put me up for that long. He was hard enough to pin down. I would never be able to do that again. 
Needless to say, I kept that promise because this guy saw a picture of me, read the notes my parents wrote about me and liked it. Now we’re married.

There is always this thing in the back of my head no matter how much I ignore it. Every little thing that people say and do only solidifies the fact that they just put up with me. I always sense it. Always. Even when I am having a conversation with someone,  I can tell even with the blink of their eyes that, that would be the last conversation I will have with them. And most of the time I am right. 

This morning my husband was looking for scissors to cut up some sausages. The knife and fork right in front of him he didn’t want to use. He wanted scissors. He had already ruined 2 scissors like this and he reached out for the only clean one in the house. So I said no. He says 

“I can’t wait!”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait for the day you’ll change”

He didn’t say for the better, he didnt say normal. But I know what he meant. 

I understand that this is just one of those things that husband and wives bicker about and exchange words. He probably didn’t mean it maybe. But it hurts. 

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