sometimes i think i am a horrible person. which is so random, because i really try to be nice to everybody. and even though i might not like everybody, i at least try to get to know them. i've been known to make excuses for people, forgiving their behavior, because i believe there is good in everyone.
and yet i think the worst thoughts about people. mean, awful, degrading things. rude and inappropriate comments, belittling statements, just outright horrible stuff.
but i don't say any of it out loud. and yet i feel bad about even thinking it. like the super nice people that i know are totally nice on the outside and the inside. and i, on the other hand, am a scumbag of a human, thinking such awful things about random people.
which really isn't so awful. because i'm pretty sure everybody thinks stuff they know they shouldn't say in polite society. and so they don't. because as grown up type people we don't have to say everything that comes to mind. it's what makes us civilized and mature.
still, i feel bad about how mean i can be. and from that i begin to think that there must be something wrong with me, because nice people don't have such awful thoughts. so maybe i'm not really the nice person i thought i was. maybe i'm a mean person, and everybody around me is too nice to say anything. and everybody just tolerates me because that's what nice people really do. and they all just feel bad for me, but still wish me well. and sometimes they shake their heads sadly at my downfall, because even though this is how i turned out, they still remember when i had such potential to be a wonderful human being and i've just gone and let them all down.
and yeah, i know that's not what's really going on, though sometimes a part of me thinks that it might be. that i am not nice enough or good enough, smart enough or cool enough, and the only reason people even talk to me is because of my dear husband. because if it wasn't for him, i'd be sad and pathetically all alone.