Being in Orlando has taught me a strange fact: I draw people to myself.
Writing that means that I must admit it which is hard. Me, a people person? Me, someone who others like? Me, friendly?
Yet, it is true. Whether chatting with a stranger on the bus or the new person at work, I enjoy knowing people’s stories which they, in turn, enjoy telling. When numerous people are asking to hang out, I must admit that something I am doing (or maybe who I am????) is making friends. Strange how I have changed over the years.
Still, friendship is hard for me. For as many people that I touch, I turn others (or those same people) away out of PTSD and Aspergian fears. He touched me on the shoulder, she came to close to my face, he asked too many questions, etc. Keeping people in my life is difficult.
Is there something wrong with me? Obviously. But what is it? Will I ever figure it out and conquer it?
I am just thankful for those that do stand by me each day and refuse to give up on me. I am not easy to be with sometimes. No one is, I suppose. Still, I am more stressful than most. Those who love me still are true friends.