It’s hard to admit you might be least loved in a group of people, but it’s something I’ve always struggled with. This might sound whiny or paranoid as shit, but either way, it’s something that I’ve dealt with my entire life and only recently come to terms with.
I am the last on the call list for almost every one of my pals. I don’t blame them, what with my horrid phone skills, but I also don’t really understand it. I don’t know if their behavior is actually punishment for my independence, a double-edged sword that spawns a lack of reliance on others for periods of time, but it sure seems deliberate. Maybe I’m crazy, but I’m tired of finding things out from some mental case I don’t even like or a website. Really, I’m just tired of being the last kid invited to the sleepover.
I know everyone purportedly feels this way. My family members have told me they’ve felt like this before. A friend told me recently everyone feels like this and it’s never true – maybe she’s right. My boyfriend challenges to say that he is even lower on the totem pole than I. Still, even with J in tow, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m right about this whole, shitty thing.
Because I’ve dealt with this for years, in recent months I’ve just been trying to let it go. This has involved a lot of random tears and upsets, because in a sense, I’m mourning. I’m mourning the relationships I thought I had and accepting them for what they are. That’s not to say they are any less important to me now, I am just no longer functioning in a delusional tunnel of “OHPLEASEPLEASEMAYBEEEE!?!?!”
It’s okay that I get the last phone call, the last invite, the last plate of food at a restaurant. It’s okay that I am an afterthought. It’s okay because that means I can choose my forethoughts instead of feeling obligated to stretch myself until I’m too thin to be any good to anyone.
This is not a declaration for pity because I don’t want anyone’s. I’ve finally stopped pitying myself, and that’s all I need. Sure, sometimes this notion of afterthoughtness makes my blood boil or a tear fall from my eye, but I know after that feeling is gone, I will no longer wallow in my one person pity party. Why? Because I’ve made peace with it, and I finally put on my god damn big girl panties.
I quoted the Avett Brothers not too long ago. You know, the one that went “I wanna have friends that I can trust, that love me for the man I’ve become, not that man that I was?” That’s been running on a pretty consistent loop in my head in recent days. And just like that song, it’s a little sad, but mostly true. All of this just means one thing: I’m growing up… again. I’m ready for it even if my inner-psyche is still a child who wants to play all day and eat a gross amount of junk food.
Adult Rachel will carry on in her life of an afterthought and in her workday now (more on that later), but Kid Rachel will daydream about television and another beachy vacation (more on that later, too).