Expectations suck.

Especially others’ expectations. But I guess we all have them. Myself included. Bloody hypocrite.

Back to my streak of stubborness that always rears up its ugly head when someone demands or expects something of me. My tendency to go against the stream can get a tad out of hand. Such as being fairly demonstrative whenever I feel my free will and independency are being violated. Which I feel a lot, though it isn’t always the case. And my mind and instinct naturally tell me not to give into others’ demands. So annoying. It’s not that I’ve never done something out of a sense of duty or simply because I want to help. I always have, I feel. How often that gesture has been returned is another matter. I know; cry-baby, right? I know I come off as a petulant child through my rantings, but a gal can only do so much before she starts to question whether she’s merely a part of the tapestry or not. So, yeah, I have expectations, too. I don’t expect much but a little goes a long way. Not that there hasn’t been gratitude, often because of the smallest of things, and I don’t know why I don’t feel anything particular about such gratitude or praise. Only for a moment or so.

I’ve read that INTPs rarely feel anything about either praise nor criticism. Not anything personal at least. I guess that fits me. However, my ‘Mr. Hyde side’ – my big ego – has, of course, not been entirely unfeeling to praise nor criticism during the years. It just didn’t do much in the end. Essentially – and as our dear Peggy Carter says: “I know my value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter.” That I keep questioning this value is my own business, not theirs. Their opinions interest me on a mere analytical level in matters of how I am viewed from the outside. Yet, I know they do not know me entirely, so they won’t be able to hurt my core, so to speak. I’m rather careful about that one. I’m used to people not taking genuine interest in me. Only if some of their observations happen to be spot on, I get surprised. I take them into consideration of my self-image and often they either confirm what I know or they are wrong and I discard them.

I still get hurt, though. I am human, after all. When strangers sling out ignorant slurs about my person I get hurt. Most of my life, really. School was toughest, but again, it always is, isn’t it? Though, I’ve always known something was wrong with them, not me, if so. Kids are kids. It has happened once or twice in my adulthood, too, either to my face in ‘faux-jest’ which I could take and hit right back, or overheard – which was a downright nasty experience, because you would think people grow up, don’t you?! Huh, apparently, some people just stay ugly inside and out. C’est la vie, I guess. I’m far from the only one who has been on the receiving end of such matters. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

I just don’t know whether that ‘strong-ness’ has been that benefitial for me. Made my hard, cynical side more hard and cynical and my soft, sentimental side more soft and sentimental. They are two sides of the same coin, yet battle against each other constantly. Two, dependent poles colliding and repelling each other. Huh, I’m becoming like my parents, aren’t I? Some sick joke played by the universe, no doubt. I’m at war within myself. Yeah, and I have a flair for the dramatic, too. Sue me.

I’m still prone to close myself off from the world and wallow in self-pity, excuses and rationalization, and at the same time, acting more honest and blunt about myself and the world when I’m around people. I don’t give a fig what they think any longer. I know I’m weird. As a matter of fact, I revel in that fact; use it as my weapon! I’d say there’s something wrong with you if you’re not just a little bit weird. They can’t hurt me with that any longer and I’m bloody proud to have come to this stage of my life!

Richard Ayoade2


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