I desperately need a vent post, but people follow my blog now. Blah. Oh well. Here goes anyway. Don’t read this if you’re looking for something happy and positive.
Currently reflecting on my lack of actual human contact other than my husband, husband’s friend A, soon-to-be-ex-housemate K, and occasionally my mother. My social strategy nowadays is to avoid being around people. Can’t make social blunders if I’m not around them. Can’t be an eyesore in public if I’m not in public.
I can’t really tell if social isolation is overall a negative for me. I still obsess about the perception of others, and that obsessiveness needs to end. I’m getting closer and closer to a place where I can quietly lead my life minimizing the unnecessarily harsh judgement of others.
I seem to exude meanness to other people. Maybe it’s my face, which is broad and bulldog-like. Maybe it’s the fact I have a bulldog face and keep to myself, which is interpreted as either stuck-up or mean. People don’t understand I’m doing them and myself a favor by keeping quiet. I honestly wince when someone tries to draw me into conversation. Before I became “woke AF” I kept myself at the edge of groups, but the second I was invited in I charged in all eager and willynilly, assuming “Oh, they like me! Yay!” So much cringe. So.. So much cringe.
Now, I politely decline well-intentioned efforts to draw me into conversation. The person might be taken aback, assuming I don’t like them or the other people, but that’s a risk I have to take. I weigh possible misconceptions against the certainty of humiliating myself by opening my mouth, and the latter wins out most times.
What I need to do is fill the void left by having no real support structure or meaningful friendships. I need to *do* things, keep busy, to keep my mind from constantly running in circles about the nature of society and my lack of value in it. I need to go home, unplug my PC and TV, and just put pencil to paper. Fiction is the only thing that has consistently buoyed me in life. When I read a book, watch a good show or movie, for a little while it feels like I have real friends, or loving parents, or anyone. Or when I put pencil to paper. The worlds and people I’ve created in my mind are rich and full of life, and while I’m someone else, I’m not the subject of ridicule and pity.
I feel like an unreasonable c*nt whenever I ask for privacy or alone time, but I have to do it. I need to lay down the law to Husband. When my office door is locked, when I have a sign on my door, your need for attention and validation must wait a little while. No, you can’t barge past my boundaries and insist on looking at what I’m writing or drawing. No, you don’t have any input on my writing or art. No, I don’t have to take your suggestions. I have control over very little in life, my creativity is what little I have. Don’t take it from me.
I mentioned above that Housemate K is soon to be Ex-Housemate K. He’s moving out tomorrow. I have mixed emotions. He was a great distraction for Husband when I needed to be in pain alone, without having to pretend I was fine. But K had no consideration for others; he felt no obligation to help out or clean up after himself. Getting him to do things in common areas felt like pulling teeth. Mean old Queen Legbeard, not wanting to be a maid for the men of the house. So tomorrow he’ll be gone, and I’ll only have to clean up for two people instead of three. Huzzah.
I used to care about him. I used to reach out, hoping for once he’d take the offer. Tried to share things that gave me joy with him. But that, like all attempts to connect with others, was ignored, if not rejected. He desperately wants to be one of the cool kids, and you can’t have that social status if you’re seen in the presence of the uncool kid. He doesn’t seem to realize he might never be one of the cool kids. Oh well. I accept it now; I accept that I will never be his friend, not for lack of trying. Friendship is a two-way street, and if I’m making all the effort than it’s not friendship. It’s just not.