Being me

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Latley I have became so sensitive or should I say susceptible. I can be very perceptive when it comes to my relationship with them;  with the people I treasure. I hate it when I notice the slightest change on how they treat me.

They can hurt me by just simply forgetting to greet me at school, by not asking me if I slept well, by not checking me if I’m okay with my failing score in calculus, by not laughing at my jokes, by not taking me seriously when I’m telling them my problems, by not being on my side and instead befriending the people who are always making false stories about me, by not choosing me when there are groupings in school activities and by not greeting me and giving me a gift during my birthday when in fact they are always exchanging gifts with each other. I am hurt everytime I see my friend’s pictures on social media, they are having fun without me, they are gathered there without informing me.

On the other side, being like me can be good at some times ’cause I’m a person who can laugh at any jokes, even at the most cliche’ of all cliche’ lines. You can tell me the same joke over and over again and I will still laugh about it. I can just snicker instantly even though I have only seen a stranger singing or dancing alone.

I am also a tender-hearted person. I appreciate when people do something just to interact with me like small efforts ; by simply smiling at me, by asking me why I was absent yesterday, by offering to help me with my physics homework, by accompanying me whenever I’m alone, by telling me I can do it, by telling me stories that interests me though it bores them, by lending me their things, and by just saying ‘goodbye and take care’ during class dismissal. It also overwhelms me when someone praises me and my works.

I am also gullible, I’m born with this personality. I’m so silly that they always fool me in everything, I am easily impressed by them and this is not a good thing. I always misunderstand people for being like this. I thought they need me as much as I need. I thought they are fond of me as much as I’m fond of them. I thought they love me as much as I love them.

I don’t know why I’m being like this. I’m a mess. I hate being me.

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