I am Brutus to my Caesar.

I don't want to express anything anymore. Sadly though, the Brownian motion of people around is more disorderly than Brown's time when he first deciphered it. If you do not participate in this whirlpool, you are a dead oddity already. You have to and you must engage time to time to survive, whatever be your style. It's no more a choice, it's become an indispensable survival weapon. Actions matter, today these actions too are highly dependable on the words you use. If you know what I mean? 

Now what if your style is that of an invincible people pleaser. All you had been doing since your childhood is responding to people's reactions, that's how you've been conditioned. Predicting their reactions even before knowing the context and then making your pitch based on preconceived notions; fortunately the add-on skill of being annoyingly optimistic in some of the worst situations  rescues the victims from any potential harm done... helps. You find victory in making the cornered feel included and special. Every minute action of yours is a result of a narcissistic thought algorithm which in simple terms tries to answer the introspective cue - "How can "I" bring more joy to the table". Everything is not about "you", sometimes you need to merely be an observer, and that being so obvious, still hurt. Lacked patience, lacked farsightedness. 

A lover of people when starts hating herself, forgets how to survive anymore. The self-disgust snatched away her only anchor to life. When she realized that her singular goal of making the tiny world around her empowered, happier, stronger through whatever roles she's destined to enact, was a scam, it shattered her.  

She can't express her true self, she can't be rogue, follow her heart, do things her gut says. She's become Brutus to her Caesar self.