Nobody

Nobody believed in me. That was their first mistake. That was the original sin that led to my becoming what I became. That was what lead me to exactly where I am now.

My parents, I couldn't entirely blame them. Their lack of belief in my abilities came from learning from the mistakes they had made guessing at my brother's, only to become permanently disappointed when he was diagnosed as the word that has since become a slur. If they never had any expectations for me, they wouldn't feel terrible if I failed to meet them, that was the assumption they lived under as they raised me.

I understood why they couldn't believe in me, even if their pride in my eventual accomplishments always rang somewhat hollow due to their initial inability to believe I would succeed in them. I understood I was capable of so much more than my brother ever would be, and my parents' ability to cope with that reality was limited.

But the problem wasn't my parents didn't believe in me. My problem was that nobody believed in me. My parents were not my entire world, especially not once I entered school. I had teachers, who were kind, especially when remembering back that they had thirty something students at a time. But I was always well enough behaved that they would seat me by the trouble makers, hoping I'd be a calming influence. I was just stupid enough for my classmates to laugh at, but not bad enough I actually required help.

My classmates, my so-called friends, they pretended to believe in me. At times, some of my friends truly did, but I always eventually disappointed. I was so accustomed to losing that I took pride in it, convinced if it was guarenteed aspect of my life, maybe if I acted as though I enjoyed it, it'd eventually hurt less.

Self deprecating humor became armor - if I laughed first, when others followed, it was acceptable because I started the joke. I told the joke, I wasn't the joke itself. Friends left my life often, entering rarely, and the reasons for leaving were often that I had a toxicly negative energy to me. Then I left for university across the country.

Those four years, I had a revelation. Nobody needed to believe in me in order for me to succeed. Nobody, that was, except me. If I believed in myself, nobody else's beliefs about me mattered (except professors since I was still a student at their mercy). I had to figure out how to believe in myself. I had to learn how to organize study groups, attend office hours, pretend I couldn't care less that my main social contacts just tolerated me rather than actually liked me. I could care less, of course. Caring less would have helped maybe make those people like me, since it seemed the few people who did like being around me were people I myself disliked being around.

Eventually all roads lead to the same place - living with my parents once again, a degree richer but without any financial riches to speak of. My brother had two jobs while I struggled to find one willing to employ me. The supports in place for him were numerous whereas I was once again presumed competent enough to get through this stage of life on my own.

My parents believed in me enough that they now operate under tha assumption the only reason I don't have a job currently is that I'm not trying hard enough to obtain one. Which is ironic because the harder they try to push me to want to work, the less appealing even applying for jobs itself becomes. Like, yes, I enjoy having money, just like almost every other adult on planet Earth. I just happen to dislike writing cover letters, or the dishonesty that would be required to not write my own cover letters but have a bot write them for me. I dislike having to confirm over and over again that yes I am a US citizen, yes, I am aware that forcing me to take a lie detector test as a condition of employment is illegal in my state, no, I have never worked for this company before, yes I am male, yes I am disabled, no I am not a veteran or competent in any languages other than English...

The one constant was, as it always had been, writing. I could write stories. I could believe in my own imagination, which had been fed on the imaginations of hundreds of other authors back when I was young and convinced maybe I could read enough other people's perspectives to learn how to be someone the other people at my school or summer camp or just the other people around me point blank might like. I learned what built a story, tropes and strengths and weaknesses.

Nobody believed in me, and that was their first mistake. I was able to take characters they did believe in, and use that to earn the goodwill that was otherwise denied to me. That was my first victory over my many flaws and failures. Unfortunately, people far prefer their written entertainment to be free, likely because, as with me, many authors aren't likeable people. They aren't the sort hard working folk want to give money, aren't worthy of handouts.

So I write my stories without asking for money in exchange. Just out of the joy of maybe helping out someone who feels alone, as so many of the protagonists in my stories feel. I myself tell myself I'm not alone. After all, I wrote parts of myself into these characters people liked reading. That was almost as though people liked me. They liked the parts of me I put out into words, or liked to hate those very same parts, which was still a positive emotion I created in someone who wasn't me.

I wasn't alone. I might have not been well-liked or believed in in a conventional sense, but I was able to create characters people could and wanted to believe in, which was itself a talent. Nobody believed in me, but I was nobody, just as Emily Dickenson wrote in her famous poem. I'm just waiting and hoping for a pair of us, don't tell...