I bring rain with me wherever I go. Not literally. Though I suppose a case could be made for that. But my sadness, my deep self-hatred, my bitterness all emanate from me. And whoever happens to be close by must run away to take cover. Occasionally, a few come by and offer to stay with me in the rain. Perhaps, they offer an umbrella. But the wind is too strong. The storm is unrelenting. Its madness is intolerable. For their own safety - for their own sanity rather, they must create distance. Sometimes the distance is small, sometimes large. Both hurt, but I must understand. Because I know the ugly truth about myself. I know what I am.
I am the rain that ruins the picnic. I am the rain that erodes the soil away, I am the rain that floods the crops. I am the rain that pounds down onto the windshield, blurring your vision and tricking your tires until, all at once, you spiral out of control.
I have hoped to be the rain that children play in, the rain that feeds the flowers, the rain that creates a comforting noise on your roof as you relax, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.
The harder I try to make my rain appear beautiful and nourishing, the less inviting it seems. Each drop hits the ground harder, radiating desperation and fear. And the people see it. Their opinions range from pity to disgust as they hurry to find shelter from me.
And I grow harder. I learn to revel in my loneliness and resentment. Then, and only then, do I become strong. The rain becomes my rain. I draw strength from the bitterness. And it flows gently through my veins, allowing me to get up every morning and earn enough money to go back to sleep in the same spot.
But even with that power, I see parents and children bonding, couples kissing, friends laughing...and in the end, I can no longer convince myself that my curse is a blessing.