Close Enough, But Not Too Close

Writing a blog after a couple of weeks. Feels a bit alien. But recently I have been noticing something, a pattern. And that pattern is people disliking me.

Could be a belief. Could be truth. I genuinely don't know. But it started with two of my closest friends, and once I saw it there, I traced it backwards through every meaningful connection I have had. And there it was. Consistent. Undeniable.

This ties into something I have talked about before: love reciprocated. Not romantic love. Just love. The general kind. The kind where someone thinks of you without being prompted. I have been buried in work lately, unable to reach out to people. And neither of my two closest friends reached out either. One responded after I initiated. The other is still absconding as of writing this.

So I started looking further back. Romantic interests. Non-romantic ones. Friends. Family. And the picture that emerged was this quiet, persistent force of repulsion. I can feel it. People pulling away, not aggressively, but steadily. And the strange part is, I don't think I do anything to cause it. I am calm. Collected. Nobody is ever annoyed by me. And yet there is this undercurrent of dismissal. This "Yeah bro, sure" energy. This is a complete lack of regard.

And the cruellest part? These same people are warm when I am right there in front of them. They say things that make you believe you matter. That you are part of their world. But the second you are not in the room, you don't exist. Lately, I have started seeing it clearly. In their behaviour. Their demeanour. Their body language.

They want me close enough, but not too close.

This has been especially brutal in what I would call my "relationship prospects." Women who are extremely affectionate around me. Lovey dovey to a point where me and other people watching us would assume we are together. But the moment a relationship is actually on the table, everything collapses. Not gradually. Instantly. Like pulling a Jenga block from the base and watching the entire structure disintegrate. And then I am left standing in the rubble, wondering what all of that was even about.

When this happens with one person, you move on. When it happens across the entire lineup, self-doubt kicks in hard. Because here is the thing: I know I am a normal person. Calm. Stable baseline. Reliable. The kind of person people call a pillar. So if the foundation is solid, what is cracking? That question has eaten away at how I see myself. How I carry myself. My confidence has taken real damage.

These days I feel more isolated, and it is self-imposed. I have built this wall where I think, why approach anyone new if the outcome is always the same? Why open up if I am just going to repel them? And look, I can say this with full confidence: I don't say anything weird. In the moment, interactions feel natural. Smooth. Genuine. Positive, even. But somehow, after the fact, I become that guy. The out-of-place one. The weirdo. The one who is just... different.

I have noticed this with women more than men. But across the board, whenever I try to mix into groups, I end up on the outskirts of the circle. Like an extra electron in the outer shell. Loosely attached. Easily lost. And the nucleus doesn't care.

This treatment has bred something else in me. Something I don't love about myself. A general disdain for people. A low-grade suspicion that sits in the background at all times. I am now hyper-aware of every word I say, how I say it, and how I carry myself. I don't drink with people anymore. You never know what those disconnected neurons will make you do or say when the filters come off.

It feels like a one-way street. All give. No receive.

Everyone wants something from me. Be their mental anchor. Be the reliable fallback. The money maker. The teacher. The one who loves. The one who cares. But not a single one of these people has been any of that for me. And the thing is, I come from values where giving is my nature. I will give you everything with full love and zero malice. Not a drop of resentment. But when someone pretends to be that same kind of person, when they put on the act, that is where my patience ends. Ask me what you need. I will provide. But don't pretend to be something you are not.

My therapist had something to say about all of this.

She said the first step is acknowledging that I am a kind person. That I give and provide to whoever needs it. I haven't fully accepted that yet, but she put it on the table. Then she laid out a reality that hit differently: there won't be a lot of people like you. You will probably just have to deal with that. I told her that is sad and discouraging. She didn't argue with it. But she reframed it.

You assume these people are capable of thinking and giving at the same depth you do. Most of them are not even close. It is not malice. It is not intentional. They simply do not operate at that level of thought behind their actions, and honestly, most people don't. They are completely normal. But so are you, just different. And expecting the same from them is setting yourself up for disappointment every single time.

The only way to turn this into something positive, she said, is gratitude. Be grateful that you are able to be the giver. The provider. The one who thinks multiple levels deeper. Most people will never reach where you naturally operate from.

Logically, I get it. I am already grateful on that front. But emotionally? It is just sad. And there is a long way to go before I fully accept it.