Member-only story
I used to want to be a nice human being.
Then I gave up.
I used to want to be a nice human being.
Seriously.
I was the kind of person who replied to every one of my Bumble matches and would tell them “hey I enjoyed knowing you but I’m not absolutely feeling like this is for me. Wish you all the best!” just so I made sure I didn’t ghost anyone.
I was the kind of person who would cry because I felt like I didn’t help my friends well enough.
The kind of person who would treat my friends to meals just because I felt bad. I had no idea what I was feeling bad about, but there was always just that part of me with this over-extended empathy for things and people who never even asked for them.
My mother was like this. She was really nice, one of the kindest people I knew, she was the kind of person that would help someone on the bus at her own expense, the kind of person who would spend an hour trying to help this dude with Parkinson’s at the mall, give him money, and completely forget her child was starving.
I never thought I had to be like her, I just thought everyone was like her. And so the more I grew up and the more people forgot my birthdays and never reciprocated my generosity and love, I wondered if I was the one at fault.
