Misunderstood

I've often felt misunderstood. Like no one really gets me - or if they do get me, they don't like what they see.

In elementary school I coped with it by convincing myself I was an alien from another planet. No wonder I didn't fit in with the humans, I told myself. I wasn't one of them.

In middle and high school, I coped with it by deciding it was my identity to be different. I avoided watching Titanic because everyone else liked it. Wherever the crowd was headed, I was heading the other way. Which worked for a bit, but I got lonely.

In college it was different. Everyone was a Christian, everyone was looking for new friends, and everyone lived together. College just worked.

But college ended in three years and I was back to square one, trying to find my place in this world. And I made friends here and there, but I've never stopped battling that feeling that no one really likes me for who I am.

There was one exception: Buttercup. Buttercup and I shared so many personality traits, despite the difference in body hair and number of legs. That's one reason it's been so hard to deal with her loss. I feel like I lost the one living thing in this world that ever really, truly got me. And absolutely loved me for it.

But here I am, alone in the world. I seem to be the only woman in Colorado who didn't get the "I can't wait to have a baby" gene. And one of the few women who doesn't want to participate in some crafty type of women's event where we quilt or scrapbook or crochet. Or go to jewelry/make-up/purse "parties." (I'm sorry, these are sales pitches, not parties.) And my sensitive taste buds often leave me feeling like people perceive me as a child. And no one seems to have the time for friends, anyway. (Or is it that they just don't have time for me? ) But dogs, they've got all the time in the world. And they're never short of adoration.

So I sit and wonder if I'll ever make a real two-legged friend here. Someone who likes me enough to initiate time with me, not always the other way around. Someone who doesn't try to pressure me into wanting kids. Someone who wants to understand me, not change me. Someone who shares her struggles and listens to mine. Someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm the odd one out in a world of women who are all the opposite of me.