giving.

I am nice to the core.

I am nice to the point of detriment to myself, apparently. But that's not how I see it - to me, this is who I am, it's what I do.

There would be no Cait without writing pages of college advice for my cousin or baking brownies to give out at college for Christmas, taking extra time to decorate a few with blue sprinkles - instead of green and red - for my Jewish friends. It wouldn't be me if there weren't three weeks spent on making a scrapbook for a best friend who's moving away or packing that project into three nights for another best friend's sweet sixteen. I'm eager to help, to give, to make somebody smile.

I am criticized, at times, for never saying no. My parents say that I'm a carpet, allowing the world to walk all over me. Even when people frustrate me, I still help them. I usually forgive too easily, because I don't see the point in holding grudges and feeling rotten. My cousin and I are on weird footing right now because she's busy with all of her other friends, yet I still spend a good chunk of my time thinking up useful college tips and answering any questions that come my way. When she does call, I make every effort to see her. Nobody understands why - they think I'm living in a dream world, that I'm being used and, at times, abused. I'm not. Because her time is limited, I know that if I don't see her on her time, I don't see her at all. People would rather see me "stand up for myself" by refusing to hang with her when she finally has time, to ignore her until she notices things are going wrong. Seems rather immature to me.

What I have realized recently, however, is that being a nice person makes everyone else seem not-so-nice in comparison. Let it be known that I absolutely do not do things for the purpose of getting something in return. Never have, never will. But I can't help noticing that some subconscious part of mind does expect something. It's not a matter of tit-for-tat, where I give you a gift so you give me one back. It's more than that, something I can't really describe.

All I know is that, when I hit my lowest points, that desire in the back of my mind comes out in full force. I sit at home and let myself mull over everything that's going wrong, wondering where everyone seems to have gone. I know in my right mind that everyone's right here, within reach and easy to contact, but for some reason it's not that easy. I don't do well asking for help, especially in this instance because I don't exactly know what I even want to ask for.

By being a giver, I've never taught myself how to take, how to lean on someone, how to ask for what I need and want. I just expect someone to notice, to realize, to intuitively understand that hey, something's wrong. I can't bring myself to ask for help, because that's taking; however, if someone else just happens to notice that I need help, then they're giving.

That's how things make sense to me, but probably nobody else. Because I'm awesome that way.