Words flow so much better when I write them. My speaking skills suck. I blame it on my brain working too fast for my mouth to keep up, but somehow my fingers seem to do the trick. It slows the way I think. I have yet to figure out how to apply it to my mouth. That, and I also blame verbal dyslexia. I don't know if it's a thing, but when the words come out backward on my tongue, that has to be some sort of dyslexia related thing, since I have the source ailment. It's actually been pretty bad lately. I think it's because I have been quite stressed lately. The specifics of that do not matter.
I have no complaints on my childhood. It was actually pretty great. I mention this only to note that some behavioral issues are learned as a person gets older and are not learned from parents. To that effect, I haven't a darned clue when these issues started, but I am painfully aware of them.
As an introvert, I keep to myself for the most part. I play the role of observer while carefully constructing responses in my own head that I never seem to vocally share. All the thoughts tumble upon themselves whenever anyone looks at me in a group. I know where the thoughts connect and flow, but I am never able to communicate it quite as effectively from my brain to my vocal cords. Let's just say the biggest reason why I got a B+ in my English Literature Senior Capstone was because 60% of the grade was discussion. It is not that I don't have thoughts. It is that I have too many, and I don't think it's worth the effort to say something unless it's insightful. I can assure you that not all my thoughts are so purposeful, and speaking for the sake of speaking is lost on me.
If it has some sort of social charm, I wish someone would explain it to me, but it is a conversational art form that died before it got to me, and I'd actually prefer it stayed that way. Unfortunately, most people would be put off by my intensity if I simply asked what their view was on the ethics of Artificial Intelligence or their opinion on Intelligence Design. Such topics are not exactly typical ice breakers or conversational starters. This is probably the biggest reason of why I am unable to initiate conversations with strangers. The rote, "Hi, how are you? Where are you from? What do you do? I'm well, thanks. Nice to meet you, too. What brought you from unnamed state to this state? Oh, fascinating. Have a nice evening. Good bye." conversations are shallow to me. I do not wish to fake interest or smiles when I have neither. To do so drains me. I understand their social purpose, but I fail to grasp why I have to bow to convention. In retrospect, it's probably why I am typing on my computer at night in my darkened bedroom.
It is all so pathetic.
If it has some sort of social charm, I wish someone would explain it to me, but it is a conversational art form that died before it got to me, and I'd actually prefer it stayed that way. Unfortunately, most people would be put off by my intensity if I simply asked what their view was on the ethics of Artificial Intelligence or their opinion on Intelligence Design. Such topics are not exactly typical ice breakers or conversational starters. This is probably the biggest reason of why I am unable to initiate conversations with strangers. The rote, "Hi, how are you? Where are you from? What do you do? I'm well, thanks. Nice to meet you, too. What brought you from unnamed state to this state? Oh, fascinating. Have a nice evening. Good bye." conversations are shallow to me. I do not wish to fake interest or smiles when I have neither. To do so drains me. I understand their social purpose, but I fail to grasp why I have to bow to convention. In retrospect, it's probably why I am typing on my computer at night in my darkened bedroom.
It is all so pathetic.
Which leads me to another point in this stream of consciousness, that is my mind, on a Friday night. The fact that I am an introvert does not mean that I don't feel anything. I just don't express it. I have been told my face is an open book, but I have met few people who feel the inclination to read it. Either that, or I've gotten much better at schooling my expressions, but I doubt it. I do internalize everything. It is not the same as compartmentalizing, which I can do with basic mastery, but as emotions arise, I shut them down. It's like a valve to twist off or a door to close. Slam it shut, bind it under lock and key, and then later, when I am alone, in the dark with my trusty pillow, it all floods out. I feel it all at once or not at all. I don't know where this comes from or how I learned it, but it just is. I have fought with it for the last few years, but I don't know what a person does with that. I tried looking it up on the internet, but everything that came up was about behavioral disorders, which totally freaked me out.
Which leads me to the whole "it'll flood out" thing. I hate crying, especially in public, which is possibly a trigger for the internalizing thing. But when I do cry, it's in the dark into my pillow. At a young age, I taught myself how to cry without making a noise. I sob, and my pillow gets wet, and my nose gets stuffy, but I don't make a sound. I shake, and I bury my face and fists in my pillows... but still nothing. Have you ever trembled when you cry? I do. Every time. After all, I don't cry too often because everything is pent up inside, so when I do cry, it's kind of epic. So yeah, trembling. And while I'm confessing to my ugly crying, I might as well mention that I have to squeeze my pillow so fiercely tight so I feel like my insides will stay in my insides. Literally, it feels like having to hold myself together with my own arms. It sucks.
Why confess all of this? Because there are parts of me that do not see the light of day. And they probably should. But the thing is, I don't think I'm good enough.
I know the whole not-comparing-yourself-to-anyone-else cliche. I recite it to myself all the time because I am an overachiever with perfectionist tendencies. I also don't know where those tendencies come from considering my parents never stressed either of those traits. I am in my early-mid twenties (thus the "under 25 and single banner), and I don't believe I have accomplished much in my young life. I do not say these things for any sort of validation. Really, I don't. I don't want anyone going, oh, but you've done so much! Because I won't believe you, and I'll think you're giving me the stereotypical response which I loathe, in case you didn't infer that from the "Hi, how are you? Where are you from....?" conversation described earlier.
Because one part of my brain says: you have written over 40 poems, a handful of essays, framed 3 books, graduated with a Bachelor's at 21, you have a family who loves you, you moved 350 miles away from home to start a new life (basically on your own), you make just enough money at the moment to pay rent, gas, student loans, and enough for food. I survive. I have read 22 books in the last 8 months, and continue to write, read, and help my friends with their personal issues. But even still, that's not enough. Because I always hear in my head how I should have finished at least ONE book by now, not be afraid to find some sort of publisher, have a full time job by now since it's been two years since I graduated. I should have a boyfriend, or, at least, guy friends, because let's be real. With all the issues I've already talked about, just having a guy friend would be an accomplishment.
So, I am learning lessons about myself, even as I get older and write this rambling down in the dark on a Friday night. Currently, the biggest thing is that I am far more prone to listen to the negative things I think than the positive things. It's a self-destructive tendency that has no foundation in my childhood or even in my teenage years. I have created it all on my own, and only God knows how or where or when. I just know that I have become painfully aware of it in recent weeks, and I need to work on it. And if you're reading this, and you feel or relate to any of the ridiculousness that I just addressed, you aren't alone. Perhaps there is comfort in that little bit. I know we like to hide in the dark, but I don't think we should.
Rambling over. I probably shouldn't edit this very much, otherwise I'll loose my nerve to post it.
Because one part of my brain says: you have written over 40 poems, a handful of essays, framed 3 books, graduated with a Bachelor's at 21, you have a family who loves you, you moved 350 miles away from home to start a new life (basically on your own), you make just enough money at the moment to pay rent, gas, student loans, and enough for food. I survive. I have read 22 books in the last 8 months, and continue to write, read, and help my friends with their personal issues. But even still, that's not enough. Because I always hear in my head how I should have finished at least ONE book by now, not be afraid to find some sort of publisher, have a full time job by now since it's been two years since I graduated. I should have a boyfriend, or, at least, guy friends, because let's be real. With all the issues I've already talked about, just having a guy friend would be an accomplishment.
So, I am learning lessons about myself, even as I get older and write this rambling down in the dark on a Friday night. Currently, the biggest thing is that I am far more prone to listen to the negative things I think than the positive things. It's a self-destructive tendency that has no foundation in my childhood or even in my teenage years. I have created it all on my own, and only God knows how or where or when. I just know that I have become painfully aware of it in recent weeks, and I need to work on it. And if you're reading this, and you feel or relate to any of the ridiculousness that I just addressed, you aren't alone. Perhaps there is comfort in that little bit. I know we like to hide in the dark, but I don't think we should.
Rambling over. I probably shouldn't edit this very much, otherwise I'll loose my nerve to post it.
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