BF4EVER...or until I have to make an effort.

I remember having a conversation with my brother about seven or eight years ago. I asked him why it seemed that one of our mutual acquaintances had way more friends than me. He said, "It's because she is just more friendly than you; she has a genuine smile." I recall that it struck me as odd, because I never saw myself as unapproachable or artificial. Shy, perhaps. More likely to shake your hand than hug you, sure, but still friendly. I didn't have scores of friends. I had "best friends" and therefore counted myself among the other lonely girls who pretended that quality outranked quantity. Of course, my social horizon grew somewhat during my adolescent years. High school has a way of shoving too many people in your direction all at once, and then graduation occurs, leaving you exactly the way you began: friendless. It is one of the many transition periods one must go through in order to become an adult. If the human social life could be compared to a process in nature, it would be the transformation of the caterpillar into the butterfly. Only reverse that. We begin beautiful and vibrant and end up warped and trapped in a lonely shell of our own making. I digress. The point is, I used to be nice. I was blessed with the ability to have a real interest in people. I see people. I perceive their true emotions, even as they try their hardest to emit something else. I listen because I understand, and because for some reason, I'm extremely sensitive to the pain and distress of others. I am doubly aware of when I cause injury or friction. I feel it in a pause, or an averted eye, and can never quite cope with my own guilty conscience. But people like me have an even more terrible problem. We're expendable. I guess sometimes, I can be too quiet, too flexible, too eager to help. I've become the doormat for everyone's issues. Yet I don't mind listening, unless my attention becomes the only reason you call. I suppose people equate the ability to listen with stupidity. They assume I don't realize their pattern, as if it's really that difficult to figure out. Delayed communication, excuses, and finally the supposed deal-clincher: "But I miss you so much!" As if that impassioned statement is supposed to make up for months without so much as a phone call or a Facebook post. As I told a friend the other day, I am still genuine and friendly, but I've developed a hard edge, a dark side. The scary kind that may eclipse what's left of the good. If this happens, perhaps it will be comforting to know it was all for the sake of self-preservation. Yet if I strive to maintain a trusting spirit, totally willing to give rather than receive, who is to say that wouldn't hurt me more in the end? I guess I am just trying to figure out which method of self-destruction I'd prefer.