Socially Awkwardly Speaking

27 03 2014

 

I read this today, Socially Awkward isn’t an excuse. Go read it, it’s a good article.

It’s awesome. And I’m saying that as someone who is, in fact, socially awkward.

My entire adolescence, counting the beginning of my college career, I was really socially awkward.

Not to put too fine a point on it, there were a lot of times I came off as creepy.

And as the article points out, people who are actually socially awkward? Care that they don’t know where the lines are. I had no idea, I only knew when I had crossed the line. When I had upset someone. When I’d got it wrong. And it upset me every time.

It took a lot of therapy and people pushing me away for me to learn. Even now, it’s not innate. I have to be aware of what I say and how I say it, how I carry myself. I know where the lines are, for the most part. And I’m a woman; I come off as less creepy by default. But all the same, sometimes I was really creepy, and I know I upset people. I’m sorry for that.

I could say that I had issues. I did, and pretty serious ones. I still do. But it’s not an excuse. I can’t apologize for my behavior, I’m pretty sure the person in question never wants to hear from me again. All I can say is that I had no ill intent. Not once.

Creepers? The ones who know where the boundaries are, and don’t care? They should stop making excuses that make people with real social problems look worse than they already do, and get over themselves. As someone who is socially awkward and reformed from creepy behavior, I ask them to cut it out.

***

I have been trying not to say or use the word ‘retarded’. It’s ableist, and I don’t want to be that. Or hurt anyone’s feelings. (I mean, I would never use it to refer to someone with a mental disability.) But sometimes I just use it casually, like ‘Oh, that’s retarded.’ And I’m not saying everyone has to stop using it, or that I’ve stopped doing it entirely, ’cause I haven’t. But everyone, just try to be aware. I think we’d be better off.

***

Magpie and I are still together and happy. It’ll be a year this summer. We’re so comfortable together.

It’s not that I don’t have issues with our relationship. I mean, we have a little friction here and there, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

I hate my past sometimes. It interferes.

Sometimes when he’s holding me I want to squirm away from him. But it’s not really him I want to get away from. I have nightmares more often now. I don’t sleep as well when he’s next to me, even though I love when he’s there.

And as much as he proves every day that he’s in love with me and cares for me, that he wouldn’t change me…something in the back of my head tells me, every day:

Be careful. He could hurt you. He might change. He might pin you down and take everything from you.

This isn’t something you want lurking in your mind, about your boyfriend. About anyone.

I’ve told him about this.

And you know what?

He still wants to be with me. He loves me enough to work with me.

Aren’t I lucky?

For the first time in my life, I really think I am.

Sincerely yours,

J.J

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The Zimmerman-Martin Trial.

14 07 2013

 

Before yesterday, I was planning on writing a post about my new internship, and my dating life. But I think this is going to be a more serious post.

Now, I’ll admit I haven’t been following the trial extremely closely. Nor was I expecting Zimmerman to get convicted of murder. I was hoping that he could be convicted of manslaughter, but it seemed unlikely, especially under Florida law. The jury probably followed the letter of the law. That being said-

I am pissed off, and I’m sad.

There was a teenager walking home, and never got there. And no one of this needed to happen. Had everyone, as I have suggested in an earlier post, minded their own business, it would have been just another ordinary evening. But Zimmerman got out of his car and followed a teenager. Trayvon, who can’t be asked what happened, most likely was unnerved by being followed and reacted without thinking about it. And the end result is a dead teenager and a man who will forever be branded as a violent racist and will never be able to go out in public again without looking over his shoulder.

I don’t think that the jury was necessarily wrong-if the state didn’t have enough evidence to convict Zimmerman, his attorneys would have just appealed. But that doesn’t seem like enough to gloss the situation over.

Parents no longer have their son, and a lot of people feel reminded that there is still racism and a lack of justice in this country.

I just worry that there are people walking the streets with guns. I don’t believe there is any real need for a civilian to carry a loaded gun. It’s one thing to have a rifle in your hunting lodge to shoot targets or deer or something on weekends, but what’s your average citizen going to need a pistol first? What, you think someone’s going to hold up a Starbucks? Even if you do, you’re more likely to make the situation worse than become a hero. And then there are people carrying guns that wouldn’t pass a police psych exam. I know the criminal elements have weapons, but I doubt a lay person with a hand gun is going to stand much of a chance against a hardened criminal anyway.

…all this just makes me tired. Why can’t everyone just live and let live? Everyone seems to want to hate or distrust someone. Why? We all live in this world, and we all just want to be happy. Can’t we bond over that? No one was born into this world to enter conflicts. We came into this world to live. I don’t know why hating each other has so much more power than that.

Well, thanks for reading. I’m going to go and read something funny.

Sincerely yours,

J.J.





After a long absence.

21 06 2013

I got an internship! YAY! Now so long as my various psychological problems don’t interfere, I should be fine. …oh boy. Got lots to talk about in therapy.

I think tonight is going to be a pondering post.

1. Why are people still debating about abortion? It’s the same points over and over, this 20-weeks thing is unconstitutional, and it seems no one is ever going to come to an agreement on it. I personally am very happy that no one can tell me to have a baby I don’t want, and the first person to tell me that if I don’t want a baby I should stop having sex is going to get kicked in the rear. Everyone should have access to contraception, use it, and the government can shut it about what’s going on in my uterus.

2. According to a lot of the comments on judgybitch, (I’m not linking to her, look it up if you want), if I want to get a man and not be a slut who will eventually have nothing to offer, I should wash his clothes, cater to his every need, make him sandwiches, and put him before myself in every respect, and then he’ll take care of me. My response to this was: Huh? What happened to marriage being a partnership?  I always thought marriage should be more of a ‘Hey, you wash the clothes and mow the lawn, I’ll cook dinner and clean the floors, and then we’ll sit down with the kids and eat and put the kids to bed and have some good sex and go to sleep’ sort of deal. I want to lean on someone, sure, but I want them to lean on me too. Equals. See?

…I’ve been reading up on it, and everyone seems to have an opinion and rules on love, and I don’t think anyone really knows. I’m just going to wing it.

You know what I think? Eighty percent of the world’s problems would be solved if everyone minded their own goddamn business about things that weren’t any of their business. If no one is being hurt or taken advantage of,  shut up about it.

OH NO THOSE PEOPLE OVER THERE ARE HAVING SEX THAT I DON’T APPROVE OF! …are they making you have sex? No? Shut up about it. OH NO THOSE PEOPLE ARE PRACTICING A RELIGION I DON’T APPROVE OF! …are they making you practice the religion? No? Shut up about it. OH NO THOSE PEOPLE ARE BEING RIDICULOUS AND I DON’T APPROVE! Are they making you act ridiculous? No? Shut up about it. (I need to follow that last one.)

With that stuff out of the way, we can focus on curing disease and ending world hunger and discovering cold fusion. And maybe play some Angry Birds in our down time. (Also, how weird is it that I’m totally broke, but still have an iPhone? This country is weird. And privileged. I occasionally remind myself that despite all the crap that I’ve been through, my life isn’t that bad. I have a place to sleep and privacy and air conditioning and I’m not starving and working three jobs to pay the rent on a one bedroom fifth floor walk up that I share with three other people. And that’s only bad by American standards.)

After a certain man ran off to Hong Kong, my brother was all OMG CAMERAS IN THE WALLS. Paranoia scares me, especially when it defies logic. There are millions of people in this country, too many for a small number to sit around and watch all day and night. This isn’t 1984. There is potential to be observed, and I object to that for the sake of our civil liberties, but practically speaking, I’m pretty sure the government isn’t listening to my phone calls.

Any sort of unquestioning belief bothers me. I just question everything. Except for gravity. I like believing in gravity, it makes it easier to get to the store.

Sincerely yours,

J.J





Cloudy Nights and Champagne

25 05 2013

This is how I first pronounced the word champagne: SHAM-pag-neh. I had only ever seen it written and I was probably about twelve at the time. Funny.

In case it comes across later, I have imbibed a small bottle of champagne and I have the alcohol tolerance of a weasel.

If I ever go to China, all I will be able to say in Chinese is ‘Hello’ (nihao) ‘moon’ (yue) and TV (dian shi). Two of those words I learned from fortune cookies and the other I learned from Cardcaptor Sakura. Awesome. Aces. Whatever.

Pretty Woman is a stupid movie. I love it.

I hate Facebook. Everyone uses it to communicate and it makes me feel socially awkward and superior because 96% of Facebook is INANE BULLSHIT.

You know what else is bullshit? That there are SIX Fast and Furious movies. SIX. All of which consist of half naked women and vehicles exploding. I tried watching Tokyo Drift once and there was so little plot I decided to watch Teen Mom instead!

Yet when I want to watch a movie, I get overruled in favor of one of those movies? American cinema depresses me.

I know nothing about Star Trek except Patrick Stewart says ‘make it so’. I want to see Into Darkness because Benedict Cumberbatch is in it and because he’s the new Sherlock Holmes that rocks my socks off. Is it weird that my ideal man is a fictional arrogant dysfunctional  borderline sociopathic asexual who shoots holes in the wall when he’s  bored? I mean, I doubt he would make a good husband or father, but good god if I met a man like that I just might follow him to the ends of the earth.

 

Ooh, new topic. I have a few neuroses. One of these is that I am very unnerved by anyone entering my space. If I come back to my room and anything is disturbed, it freaks me out. Even if it’s been cleaned. I’m still like ‘OMG SPACE INVADED ARGH’. Thanks for violating my spirit and body further, abuser! /sarcasm

My family is aware of this. However, it seems my idiot brother doesn’t get it. I came home today, and my bed was remade incorrectly. Boom, alarm bells. I pull the sheet back, and my fitted sheet is gone, replaced by some other one. And he admits he was in my bed. I want to smack him in the mouth. He has no reason to be in my bed, and I can’t handle having my bed touched, I don’t like anyone sleeping in my bed unless I’m sleeping with them. Period. And I’ve told him this.

It’s disrespectful, and he doesn’t care. Should my mother not set him straight, I’m going to say, to his face, ‘Your daddy liked to come into my room at night and creep into my bed, so now I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN OTHER PEOPLE DO THAT.’ Maybe that will get his attention. Good god.

Another new topic!

My godmother’s daughter (who I think of as a younger cousin) had her bridal shower today. It was lovely. We got her a cocktail shaker and a bottle opener, both shaped like sperm whales. She loved them. Which was good, because someone else got her the same thing. She and her husband-to-be like their drinks, so they’ll get use out of them, at least. Bridal showers are fun. It was a little sad because my godmother really should have been there, but she’s been dead for almost a year, so instead we all got to tear up when one of the gifts was a drawing in a glass frame of the bride and her mother. My mother cried. Then we had cake.

…and that’s about it, and my buzz is pretty much worn off, so now I can sleep. I hope everyone is having a good weekend. And I’m back again!

Sincerely yours,

J.J





On My Own

5 02 2013

Today’s post is named after the song from Les Miserables, and my thoughts on loving a shadow. There is going to be some frank mentioning of dark things, so…read with caution? I never know how to warn for these things, and since this blog is pretty anonymous, I don’t really know who’s reading it.

 

I am perfectly aware that my crush on BB is entirely in my mind; it’s a security blanket, something I can wrap up in and use as an emotional outlet. As the song says, ‘And I know it’s only in my mind, that I’m talking to myself, and not to him’. He can be my dream lover, because I don’t have a chance to actually entangle myself emotionally with him. I can separate love and sex like I always do, so I don’t have to try and find both together, which unnerves me. Or maybe I just don’t understand it; my wires are crossed, so to speak. Abuse during my sexual development really helped my psyche along.

After doing some reading, apparently a lot of people who were sexually abused during childhood have this problem. You don’t associate sex with love, it has different associations. This only seems to apply to sex with men, in my case. I don’t have the same hang ups with sex with women, but I think I desire more of a connection with a man because I grew up with no true father figure. Okay, no more Psych 101 stuff.

So I can sleep with men, but only with ones that don’t have any ability to love me, and vice versa. And I develop emotional attachments to guys like BB, who was quite sweet to me, but isn’t interested and is emotionally unavailable. Which makes him completely safe, since I know that he’ll never love me and therefore can’t hurt me since I’ve already accepted that.  If he suddenly confessed to a burning passion for me, I’m sure I’d be happy about it, but I’m sure I would find a way to end it or screw it up. Or maybe not, because he’s thousands of miles from here and therefore I wouldn’t have to deal with him every day.

And for all my logic and explanations, I still hope every day that he’ll e-mail me, and I love that feeling of hope. Even if it’s just a projection, it makes me feel good. But unrequited feelings are too much trouble, they don’t go anywhere and they can’t grow. Eventually you grow out of them, or at least I do, but in the meantime you make mistakes. I’m trying to go to singles events and things; maybe if I find someone else, I won’t think about him.

Right now, it’s just more of the same. I’m sort of bored, to be honest. I want to explore. At least I have a part time gig. Maybe a little money will cheer me up, huh?

Sincerely yours,

J.J





Had A Nice Christmas

26 12 2012

Hardly anyone came for Christmas, but it was nice, all the same.

I got an iPhone 5, so YAY NEW SHINY THING. It’s pretty damn cool, I must say, so for once I’m glad I’m like everyone else on the planet who has one.

And tomorrow is my birthday! YAY ME.

Big C probably can’t go anywhere with me for New Year’s, which means, most likely, I will be at home. With my mother. Yay! <_<
As you can tell, I’m thrilled. I intend to spend it, at the very least, imbibing alcohol.

BB hasn’t e-mailed me since Christmas Eve, and I’m convinced, as per my usual level of self confidence, that I did something wrong. I shouldn’t give a damn, but I do. It probably doesn’t help that my period hasn’t shown up. I thought it was, but so far, not so much. I know I’m not pregnant-I mean, I’ve lost weight since meeting him, so I don’t think I’m growing a baby inside me.

Though it makes me think, again, about what I would do if I was. Logic says that I should run to the nearest place that provides abortions, and tell no one, not even him. I mean, I’m in no place to raise a kid, certainly not with a man I had a one night stand with. Or without him, as well the case may be. (Big C says that I shouldn’t assume that men won’t step up, but in my experience they don’t, so I would assume that BB wouldn’t be any different. Which is probably why I’m still single; I don’t trust men, and apparently I appeal to a very small demographic of women.)

But I don’t know if it would be so easy, once I knew. I mean, could I go into a doctor’s office and say ‘I don’t want to be pregnant or a mother, please take care of this for me?’ I don’t know. The part of me that wants to be a mother more than anything says no. The part of me that wants to travel the word says yes. I don’t know which would win out.

 

Also, I have eaten tons of crap today. Cake and apple turnovers and cookies and crap crap crap. Thank Weight Watchers for the Weekly Points, otherwise I would be totally screwed. Mmm. And today is Wednesday, so my points reset tomorrow. I made it through Christmas without using all my points, yay!

And I’ve put Barcelona on my list of places to see; I don’t know much about architecture and I still find the buildings staggering. I know I live in a great country, but damn, the old world had gorgeous things. Like this.

File:Palau Nacional.jpg

The National Art Museum in Catalonia

Gorgeous! Or this!

CasaBatllo 0170.JPG

CasaBatllo

I don’t know what this is, but it’s gorgeous, and makes me think it’s from another world.

In the meantime, I have work tomorrow, and I have a cough that is kicking my ass today. I don’t know where it came from, and now I’m wheezing a little bit. I have no desire to be sick, so I’m sucking on tea and cough drops and hoping I make it to work tomorrow. I’m really hoping that they’ll keep me, because I really don’t want to be on the hunt for a job again. But the part of me that finds other people irritating is all ‘YAY NO MORE WORK!’ But I need the money and the activity. With my job I average about 4 activity points a day, and without it I have a tendency to sit around, since I don’t push myself too hard. However, I am looking at fitness classes that the city sponsors, maybe that’ll suit me better than a gym I never go to because it’s too far and I don’t feel welcome there.

…I really try to sound positive…but I would feel better if BB would just e-mail, which would mean I wouldn’t have scared off another guy with my issues. Unless of course, I didn’t in fact make a mistake and he’s just busy. But either way, I’m not on his mind and I’m bummed and instead of doing something constructive, I’m eating chicken fingers (baked, not fried) and drinking Smirnoff Ice. See, if this was a chick flick, this would be the beginning, and then I would win a trip to Europe, lose the rest of my weight, and BB would realize, hey, he’s madly in love with me and we run off on a trip together and eventually get married. I would wear this.

Ooooooh.

Ignore the no boob model, focus on that skirt. Ah. …I love how I love wedding gowns and have little faith in the institution of marriage. THANK YOU SPERM DONOR! Also, I would have more respect for the fashion industry if they designed for women with curves. (There is an Australian model who appeared in Glamour sometime this year, I think, who is a size 10/12 and SO HOT OMG, so don’t tell me curvy can’t be dressed. I can’t think of her name. But she was pretty pretty pretty.)

…I am sure I am not sober anymore. Time for ending the post. Good night everybody!

Sincerely yours,

J.J





16 12 2012

 

I am frustrated. Again.

After doing some reading online, I have learned (apparently) that the reason that I don’t do well with romantic relationships is because I give into sex too easily and I’m too needy and too distant at the same time.

1. What year is this? I know women are more hard wired to make emotional connections after sex, but am I not supposed to want to have sex early on? Maybe not. Maybe I should give it a shot. No sex until there’s an emotional connection. …which at the rate I emotionally connect with people means I’ll probably have sex two years from now, if I meet someone next week.

2. I’m too needy. I know that. Probably because between the anxiety issues, the intimacy issues, and the depression, I either don’t connect at all or I connect too quickly. So, I have to find other fulfilling things. …I’m in trouble. No sex and I have to feel fulfilled. Not that sex makes me feel fulfilled. …I’m really in trouble.

3. Of course I’m too distant, I have trust issues! A lot of trust issues! And I’m introverted and antisocial and I hardly like anyone and…I’m going to die alone, aren’t I?

I think this is just me still feeling rejected. I’ve felt like crying for two days and I haven’t done it yet, and I’m just…I don’t know. I don’t feel like I have a lot of emotional support. Well, I don’t have many friends…I have two friends, and one’s in California and the other’s emotional support for like twenty people. I have my mother, but that’s too complicated and I have to hide things from her, so that’s no good.

Oh, wait, I have a therapist! I should make a list of things to take to her to talk about, but forty five minutes a week just isn’t cutting it, especially when I have to miss a lot because of work. And I can’t afford two sessions a week. And yet I keep saying I’m okay. …maybe I should go back to my support group. But I wasn’t really comfortable there. There must be another. But I don’t know if I want to walk into another room of strangers that don’t care about me and talk about my rage and my disappointments and my frustrations and my sadness and then walk away alone again. For all my introversion and my aversion to people, I am very lonely. I want to believe that life is beautiful and that I’m worth something, but I don’t. There are beautiful moments in life, and I believe that. But they are so few and far between, and the rest is so boring and empty and painful, and I don’t know why I continue to slog through it. As for me…I might have been worth something once, but I don’t think I am.

Big C says that value doesn’t really mean anything-he’s right, something like gold only has value because we say so, it’s just a shiny rock-but value is something that people seem to agree on, because one person started it. And for anyone to think that I’m valuable and worth keeping and caring for, I have to believe that first. But I don’t! I can say that I do a million times, but deep down I don’t! Deep down I’m still the child who feels lonely and dirty and self loathing, who wishes she could disappear, or turn into someone else. Someone else who is happy, who shines, who doesn’t still sometimes want to destroy themselves because they can’t bear the loneliness and pain.

I want to tell that little girl that everything is all right. But I don’t want to lie to her, and I don’t know that everything is going to be all right. She thought that if it ended, she would be all right. She didn’t know that even if it ended, she wouldn’t feel any better. The damage was done.

The damage is the worst part. You think, ‘I’m damaged goods, so no one’s going to take me when there’s plenty of fruit out there with no bruises.’ And the cracks make you aware of even the tiniest bit of pressure because you’re so much easier to break. And criticism  You can’t take criticism. You can’t, because it means someone saw, that they know you’re no good!

And even if someone likes you, you can’t get that right, you cling because you need them to stay, and if they leave you it means that you were never any good after all, and they’re just one more mark on you.

I hate how we have a number, and for women it’s a bad thing. I don’t know my number, I don’t trust my memory to give me a complete list, so if someone asks I either tell them it’s none of their business or I make something up.

I also don’t know when I lost my virginity. I have no clue. Big C said to just pick a date, like a birthday for a pet. I picked one to make it seem like the idea made me feel better, but it doesn’t. It just makes me feel contaminated, like anyone can just get into my body and do what they want with it.

…you know, I’m not a bad person. I mean, I’m not perfect. But I’m decent, maybe even a good person on some days. I don’t try to hurt anyone, I try to be nice, I sometimes give to charity even though I avoid bums on the subway. But it doesn’t matter, because even though I’m not bad I’m not good.

No one’s ever going to take me home to meet their parents or have children with me or ask me to travel the world with them. That’s not what I’m for. I’m for booty calls and late nights and distance, I’m not that kind of girl.

There won’t be a wedding for my mother to cry at. Maybe I’ll manage to get knocked up and keep the kid and try to raise the kid to have a better life than I did before chucking myself off a bridge. That’s probably the best I can hope for-I’ll do it after my mother dies so that she doesn’t have to live with the pain of losing me.

Maybe that won’t happen. Maybe I will be happy. But it doesn’t seem like it. It seems like no matter what I do, it’s never quite right. I don’t fit anywhere, I always do something wrong. I’m never happy. Even if it seems like it, it’s all fake. And I’m tired of it.

Sincerely yours,

J.J