Patience. 
Patience is something I hold in abundance, from the very moment I was born, I've been patient.
Learning, watching, assessing, adapting.  

I've always had a knack for that. Knowing what a person was holding in their heart. 
It comes to me in a taste, a smell, a feeling. I can never quite describe it's flavor.
But I've always had a knack for knowing a lie. Maybe it's because I never learned how to trust. Or maybe it's what caused me to be unable to.
But while growing up with an aptitude for patience, I also learned how to ignore these lies. The things I could feel in my heart to not be true, but I act as if I believe them anyway.
From my siblings and parents, to teachers and strangers. I got the little inward tingle whenever someone was dishonest with me. But for the sake of appearing normal and naive (I was quite young), I ignored so many things, for the sake of appearing to not understand.

Maybe everyone does that.
But for me I always felt alone.
Not knowing how to trust. But always being forgiving and patient with everyone in my life.
I could forgive the most egregious things. Accept anyone for their issues or crimes.
I thought that by being positive and kind I could cure the world in my own little way.
A blessing, if you will. For the less fortunate. 
I couldn't help but see all the hurt and mentally ill around me as poor ignored children in need, as I had grown into a sort of motherly role for my own siblings in my life.

I was a fool. Feeding into other's insecurities and evils.
If you can call anything evil.
I lost myself in attempting a real trusting bond and relationship, accepting whatever came my way and beseeching every new 'rock' in my life to trust in me completely, to allow me to care for their wounds or their mental worries. But I was too afraid to trust them myself. Too afraid to let my own mask slip. To let my real self be shown.

I've always seen myself as a creature. Less and less human every year.
Murdering and ripping my past self and consciousness to shreds to continue to live and breathe in this skin.

And so it's only proper that a monster should hide it's face.
To mimic speech and prey upon weaker minds.
It helps, sometimes. To notify them that I intent to use them. 
Not use them as much materially, but moreso in thought, in feeling.
A "Project" is what I'd call most of them.
Potentially to see how far I can change to fit the mold they want. Or how far they can change into an ideal I see fit. 
Still young, I admit I wish that I had more time to study them, in the conditions I want.
But some events are not meant to happen. For better or worse.

On the topic of love....

It's hard 

I tried, years ago. To feel it.
But whenever I chanced upon it I held tightly to the mask I wore, but out of fear of losing that 'love' I never committed to the bond in relationship. I just couldn't bring myself to be in a relationship that I could already see ending in my mind. Maybe days, weeks, years down the line.
I had developed a kind of sense for it, after aquatinting myself with a person and then mapping out their thoughts in way. I wouldn't commit to a lie like that. If there's something I don't enjoy doing, its lying to someone I care about in the slightest.

But....
Then there were times I did feel it. Genuinely. Deeply. I fell hard, and loved fully.
The type of love that never fades. A sort of uncontrollable feeling. Or pull. Or whatever. 
Makes me ignore my better reasoning and instincts.
Most times, I buried it. Hid my feeling because I believe sometimes it's better to watch from afar instead of making your feelings known. Better not to share what a beautiful interaction was had and shared by such fickle and irrational feelings and ideas. "It could never be, really"
Is what I told myself. In all the different possibilities I had seen mentally, there hadn't been any one that had been reasonable or believable. 
But sometimes I felt being honest was good. It never lasted, it never went well. But that's part of the beauty of it, of sharing as much as I could without crumbling inward.
I've only dated twice. Came close about 3 times. But those two times I had wanted to feel alive.
Despite, knowing the lies floating around the room like thick smoke, making it hard to breathe without choking. Holding back tears that felt as heavy as full bathtubs behind my tightly shut eyelids.
I did deserve this? Didn't I? This is what I wanted. To feel alive. To feel pain and happiness?
I'm content with this, but in feeling it I'm also upset. How much is permissible, before my love and patience has taken me too far?
How much should I witness, before pulling the trigger. Instead of just closing my eyes and ignoring the truth. Do I sit back, happy with my chapter in the book? Or stand out, and write the ending to the story myself. Which way would I be happier? Its hard to gauge.

Am I too passive? Am I just a cuck? Do I lack personality? Am I not worth the effort I put into myself and others? Will I ever really reach the normality I so idolize?

When will I stop caring about what people feel and think.
When will people being unhappy in a room stop feeling like a knife in my stomach.
I want to be understood, but I have such a preference for being alone. 
Maybe I'll never understand what it is I wanted.
anyway, rant over. 
baiiiiiii