These things I shan't have

Quick to catch the smallest things not permitted for one such as me.
Unless I fall to dust, I shall remain, unchanged.
Essential, to you, is barred from me
Entering this superficial world is something I am incapable of.
Receive me with pity; I can be me, or I can die.

(Note: queer is used here in the denotation of the word!)

This post, by nature, will be rather self-depreciating in some areas and too proud in others. I apologize in advance for my paradoxical low self-esteem and narcissism.

It would be wrong, now, to say I have no friends. I have a medium-small group of people who will speak with me; about half of which would even do as much as to openly call me a friend. I am thankful for those people... But somewhere along the way, I wish I could find a best friend. Someone who cares just a bit more than the average person. Someone who really does like me and is transparent in their actions and stays steadfast to their feelings... Someone to care for me when I need it and allow me to care for them when they need taking care of. Someone to write poetry with, or share ideas with, or discuss books with, or discuss all these things I think with, or wander with (or something of the same nature- something that has the same spirit as what I mentioned). I know this is a far cry from what normal people look for in a best friend, and I suppose that is why I have none: such a person does not exist for me. I'm not trying to be over-dramatic, despite what it may seem: the basic qualities I look for in a good friend are qualities that are rare to begin with.. And even if I wished to settle, I could not, for they would not have me.

So I spend my days writing to myself and laughing to myself and, on occasion, exclaiming random things to myself out of a broken will to keep myself from doing so.

The people around me- these people who can not only find one good friend, but many- smile through their days; some of them secretly vehement and the others to carefree to not smile. They are capable of being liked; of people paying honest attention to them (fancy that!). I, I am rejected as wholly as one may be by the strangest of people that I have long wished would consider me human. I idolize these people, to a small, small extent (but as much as I idolize a human I know), and in turn, they try their utmost to pretend I do not exist.. And their intelligence grants them success. And I, I feel like an outcast: the masses refuse me, and the intellectuals refuse me; to where do I turn?

I have no problems with befriending the lowly: those with IQs half mine plus ten or twenty, those who everyone else treats as if they were non-existent, those whose annoying mannerisms make have forged for themselves a terrible reputation that they can not help but uphold- I do befriend them, and they seem almost drawn to me. But among such people, in general, I find no content beyond finding that I can, indeed care for those I inherently care for (the underdog has alwasy broken my heart). I hate to sound so self-righteous and better than them (for in many ways I am not), but it is the truth, if only because it is what I feel.

I know I will never find this ideal friend I seek. God never gives me quite what I want. But the fact that I have no friends even near to being it makes me wonder, just as I always do when I find I lack what appears to be a necessity, if I am set apart to be robbed of this basic luxury or that for some divine purpose. Friends. Love. Understanding. An ability to hone my skills to create something worthwhile. Hundreds of other things that, when jeopardized, I wonder if I am never meant to have them and must instead be thankful for what God has given me.. This possibility haunts me. What if what I have is all I shall receive, and I should be glad?

But I'm not. I'm lonely and I'm a genius with nothing to show for herself but mixed bits of her life recorded, for no one in particular, in her blogs, journals, and all on random empty spaces on whatever paper is available. I'm confused by the multiple facets of every situation that I can always, always see simulataneously (blessed are the bigots who can only see things their way! They sabotage beauty but are able to stick to their guns and save themselves from guilt, denial, and over-analyzation). I am strange-looking and hold little promise to be anything but (and therefore am at a disadvantage of catching anyone's eye). I am Kristen, Kristen; I can be nothing but, for if I were, my thoughts would be positively overun with an analysis of my hypocritical actions and my conscience would plague me: but for what, exaclty?