What's wrong with me?

Tag: introspection

  • Missed connections

    A thought occurred to me at work tonight. I used to meet women all the time at work or through mutuals. Eventually we’d get close and often times a person I started talking to would tell me they had a thing for me for a long time and were just afraid to tell me.

    Whenever this happened, I felt really good. It made me think about all the time I had spent with that person and all the fun times we had. It felt like a head start on knowing what that person liked about me. There were usually signs, we were unusually friendly, but nothing felt concrete until their disclosure.

    That makes me think about all the people I’ve felt connected to that I never took the first step with, either through my initiative or theirs. Could any of those people and I started getting close? Could we spend our whole day talking and joking around for a few weeks or longer?

    How many missed connections were there? Probably fewer than I’d like to imagine. We all want to be wanted. I do think the number would be non-zero, though.

    Don’t get me wrong, in my mid to late 20s I passed my cat around quite a bit, but there were still some people I was more reserved with and didn’t pursue either because I felt they weren’t interested or whatever situation they or I were in wasn’t typically conducive to new beginnings.

    But in my late teens and very early twenties I was a lot more reserved and cautious. I felt that there was no way someone could be that into me until we had started dating, and that I had to win them over to get to that point. I didn’t understand that some women just liked me for who I was. I could be on the phone with someone and they could seemingly be throwing themselves on me and it’d fly over my head.

    I was afraid of being hurt, of being rejected, of being laughed at. I never felt particularly desirable until my mid 20s.

    Most of the people in my life have gone away, but there are a few who have stuck around. The ones that have stayed shape the core of who I am today. There are also some I don’t talk to regularly, but they are there for me if I do need someone to talk with.

    There is a residue from each and every person that I was close with. Some were just reminders of certain behaviors or ideals that didn’t ultimately mesh with who I am. Each one of those further compounding on the previous ones.

    There are some that shared their interests with me and they became my own. Things like music, books, shows, and sports. Then there are some that shared ways of doing things like cooking a meal or folding clothes.

    Then there’s the ones that share the things that make them tick. The things that make them laugh, the things that make them think, the things that make them hurt. That’s where the layers of residue get slathered on. Everything from the jokes that made them genuinely laugh, to their analysis of a character in a book or movie, or to a moment when they’re vulnerable after the world fucked them over and at that very moment they let you in and didn’t hide.

    So that begs the question: would I be the same person today if I was more bold, or if just one of the many people in my background was more bold and just went for it?

    I think the answer is even if one of those missed connections turned into a connection, I ultimately would be a different person. To what degree, it would depend on how that connection ultimately went. There were some relationships I learned how to fold my clothes differently. Then there were some relationships that shook me to the core and changed my whole trajectory, where a couple months changed the rest of my life.

    I wonder how much of an effect I’ve had on others that I was really close with. I wonder how much of an effect I could have had on my missed connections.

    I think I’m romanticizing here, as well. What if things were just bad or sour? There’s nothing that’s saying a connection has to leave a good residue, just a residue.

    I think there’s more to think about here. The next entry may be “How many versions of myself never existed because two people were simultaneously afraid to say something?”

  • Lost my spark

    One of the most frustrating things in life is not being able to act the same way I did when I was the most happiest in my life.

    There was a time when I was so blasé about certain things. I wasn’t concerned with whether someone would like me or not. I mean, I cared, but I was me and I was going to do my thing. If they liked me and we vibed together, fantastic. If not, it sucked, but I didn’t care.

    But I learned there was a lot of how I acted and thought that was harmful to other people, so I changed my approach. Now I’m so careful.

    Don’t get me wrong; I am still the same deep down inside but it’s like instead of broadcasting myself, I give the filtered version of myself. I think this makes it so some people never see the real me. The hurtful part is I can see deep down that these people would love the real me if we could just get over the hump. But I have so much respect for some people that I don’t act my old ways because I don’t want to feel like I won them the way I used to win them.

    The shitty part is, when I grow apart from people, I revert to the safe version and sometimes then I can’t even get back to the way I was before with that person. That especially hurts, because I know there’s a version of me they vibe with but because of life changes it just doesn’t work anymore.

    Of course, they changed too, so it isn’t just in my control. It still hurts though.

    Would I go back? Yes. Would I end up in the same place? Yes. So does that mean where I’m at is worse even though I long for the past? I don’t think so.

    It’s hard to accept growing older.

    To go into more detail, there was a time when I was sleeping around a lot. I’d have multiple women in a rotation and I’d pretty much always have an option or three, every single day and at any time I wanted. I felt guilty, but I did genuinely care for the people I was with.

    But then I realized, and asked myself, why am I doing this? Why is one person not enough? So I made the choice, I found who I clicked with the most and closed off the other options. I’m still here 14 years later. So that’s a win. But why does it not feel as though it is? Because I’m not living like I’m a king and getting laid whenever I want?

    Why do I miss what I grew away from? How do I be happy with who I am? I’ve asked myself this for the longest time. I’m just not a good person.

    But a not-good person wouldn’t make a change like that, voluntarily.

    The issue isn’t that I just went from unrestrained and free to considerate to others. It’s that I went from unrestrained to restrained. I censor and filter myself.

    I feel like I’m mourning how I felt at that point: in control, desired, needed. I wasn’t analyzing everyone’s responses because they mean so much to me, if something didn’t work it didn’t work, I was still me and I wasn’t alone. There was an ease to being who I am that I don’t have anymore.

    I want to be weird or funny or crazy or sexual or annoying or intense without worrying about the response. I can let them form their own opinions and I can still be me.

    I think there’s a balance, I can be considerate but still be me. I just need to get back to not analyzing everything before I just let things happen. I know the changes I made that were good, and I’m starting to understand the changes I made alongside it that took away part of who I am.

    It’s a balance, and I must find it. I don’t know how to do that yet.

  • Deceptive

    Today, I responded to the picture my father sent me which I referenced in my last post. I let him know I wrote a blog post about this very topic. I did not mention my thoughts on the subject or how I felt the attitude of the picture was counterproductive, just that I wrote about it.

    I feel bad for not telling my father my true feelings. I feel bad because I’m not showing who I am. My father is very sensitive, just like me. I feel as though if I were to say my thoughts, he might be offended, or he might double down on his side to belittle mine. So I didn’t say anything. Again, my intent and my feelings aren’t meant to take away his, but I feel if I shared my true thoughts my own opinion would face scrutiny.

    But shouldn’t I be courageous? Shouldn’t I be bold? Shouldn’t I feel some agency and defend who I am? I felt that by letting him know I wrote something in my blog, but not letting him know that I wasn’t in exact agreement with the sentiment, that I was deceptive. Now he may feel I have a similar stance and viewpoint.

    …All just to avoid an argument and having to defend myself.

    Am I meant to provide full disclosure just so there’s no misunderstanding of my feelings? Would it have been better to just say nothing?

    He immediately asked if he could see my blog, and I was deceptive again. I let him know it’s a WordPress on my computer, but it is behind the firewall and only available on my local network. I felt that this was bad, because it was an actual lie.

    …All just to avoid an argument and having to defend myself.

    My father has given a lot to me, especially materially. Even recently he made a huge purchase for me just to be nice to me. But does that mean I owe it to him to put aside my reservations and make myself vulnerable? I don’t know. That’s what I’m struggling with now. What do I exactly owe him? Access to my feelings and thoughts? Communication? Time? Gratitude? What?

    We can always feign that we are doing it solely for making someone else happy, but in my experience, that’s not true. We may even convince ourselves, but deep down there’s always some self-serving purpose in my eyes. “I just want them to like me,” “I want their respect,” or even “I like the way *I* feel when they’re happy.”

    I love my father, I really do. But I also feel there’s a real danger in being different and having different viewpoints where I would need to defend who I am and how I feel, and honestly I just don’t know if I have the strength or desire to do that.

    The thought ties into the last post, as well. Caring what other people think about me and having to build myself up is so tiresome. So so tiresome. I’m trying to just be me, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sure, I’m constantly trying to improve myself and build a better life. I don’t want to have to sync with anyone else, though. My identity is my own.

    So does that mean I’m closed off or narrow minded?

    Maybe every disagreement doesn’t need to become a debate. I already over analyze everything, maybe I have already made the argument the other person is trying to make in my head already. In fact, I probably have.

    One thing I want to do is find a way to be honest but respectful. How do I minimize omissions and eliminate lies but also feel like I don’t have to give access to my inner thoughts and feelings?

  • Bipolar, the personality trait

    Today my father sent me a picture about Bipolar disorder which stated that Bipolar is not just being sad when something happens. It said it’s a medical condition, not a personality trait. It was titled “We’re All a Little Bipolar”

    While I agree with all the information in the picture, the delivery is what bothers me. I, myself, have Bipolar. I have for most of my life.

    What I have been moving away from, and this is the issue I have with the picture, is the them versus us attitude. I find it hard enough to assimilate into society with this affliction, but I don’t feel the way forward is to ask other people to change. I think the way forward is to accept what you are and understand why other people may feel otherwise. I know it’s easier said than done.

    I feel that what happens when you adopt this mindset that other people will never understand, is that you are segregating yourself from them. The truth is, we all have medical conditions. We all have things we go through.

    I’m in no way trying to minimize my father’s experience or say that he’s wrong for identifying with the message in the picture.

    For me, once I start presenting bipolar as an explanation of who I am rather than something I live with, it starts moving from medical condition toward identity. I choose to keep my Bipolar as a medical condition. This helps me not feel ill will toward others who may not be able to understand what it means to be Bipolar. It also helps me know that I have a condition which requires my own personal adjustments and not the adjustments of others who may not be willing or able to adjust.

    Then again, I’ve now devoted an entire blog post to analyzing how I responded to a picture, so apparently over-analysis is one identity I’m perfectly willing to embrace.

  • Love and Literature

    The book I’m reading, “Beautiful World, Where are You?,” made a point that was worth contemplating. One of the themes often touted when discussing the Bible is that we should love indiscriminately without regard to ourselves. In the book, one of the characters made a remark that isn’t that how we feel when we read books? Don’t we fall in love with characters when we know that they can’t love us back?

    I know that idea seems common sense, or maybe even simplified, but it highlights an idea worth pondering: I am capable of loving without getting anything back. I’m not completely narcissistic. Even though these characters aren’t always perfect, they often make mistakes and they have faults, I still don’t want anything bad to happen to them while I’m reading and I harbor strong feelings for certain characters even after the reading is done.

    I’ve struggled with self identity and self worth. Sometimes, often times, actually, I feel as though I’m a bad person. I feel bad for caring so much about who I am and how I feel and focusing just on my own experience and placing that above other people.

    After considering the book’s idea, I can wonder if ultimately I’m not broken. If I’m not beyond hope. There are certain wavelengths that are attuned to who I am and who I want to be. There are certain struggles characters go through, and I feel like I go through with them. There are certain victories I feel as my own. There are certain character traits, moments in life, favorite foods, and every other little thing that makes a character that just resonate with me and make me feel more in tune with who they are, even though they are fictional and could never feel the same about me.

    So maybe even though I’m self serving, there is a glimmer of hope for me somewhere. Food for thought.