I have trouble talking about my own emotions but I’m okay with typing everything anonymously. It’s like I feel shame for everything I feel and not confident that I’m feeling what I’m feeling. Does that even make sense? How can anyone know me better than me? Or at the very least how can my emotions be better felt by someone else other than me, the person who’s experiencing them? I know I need to learn to open myself up to people but it is so, so hard. I try and then I close up and distance myself. I think I’m too used to information being used against me. I think I don’t trust people enough. I mean, after a childhood like that, it’s kind of tough.
I wonder if she wonders how I turned out; I wonder if she wonders about the impact of her bullying; I wonder if she regrets it. I wonder if I’ll ever not have trust issues. Childhood is an impressionable time. Teenage years are a great time for superficial friendships. Adulthood is a good time to strengthen anything. I don’t know. It never hit me until a friend said it that I don’t confide in anyone about anything. It’s weird. It’s like I think that by not saying anything I can undo what I feel or pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s an issue, you know? When he told me he felt sorry for me, I decided I had to try harder to be okay with saying the words I want to say but feel like I can’t. It’s silly, I know. It’s silly to pretend I have no feelings when come on, I’m human too.
I don’t know what I expected, that I’d just give this link to people I wanted to say things to and expect them to read it so they’d have an understanding and I wouldn’t have to say embarrassing things in real life?
You know, maybe that’s why I’ve never felt super close to anyone. I don’t know how to share information and people never ask. This is a human skill that I’m working on. I’m in introvert and lately I’ve been crawling inward again. Being in customer service is helping me keep the shell open. Thank goodness for that. I can talk to people out of responsibility but if it were up to me I’d be hiding out by myself.
So there’s this one friend that I’ve been talking to everyday for the past few months. Every time I stop replying, he reopens the conversation with new questions or information. It’s nice. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to one person so consistently. But even now, I feel like part of me is grateful for his patience and presence and another part is confused as to how to stay patient and put in effort. Reciprocating that is hard. Part of me doesn’t know how to reconcile that we’ve talked so much more cumulatively than I’ve talked to with many other people that I’ve known for so much longer. I know, I know, quality not quantity.
I’ve always seen myself as someone who’s more comfortable talking to women than men but after having lived in a male-dominant environment for a year, it’s become the reverse. The way I see myself is no longer who I am. Isn’t that funny? I think I don’t feel as much like an outsider. When I was younger, I chose solitude over being around people that I felt like an outsider around. I chose being a reader, being a spectator, being a volunteer. You know, regardless of what I say, I really do think it was those elementary school years that shaped me, messed with me, whatever. Because after all that solitude, the one person that I finally decided I could be friends with turned into a bully. It’s like my younger self never got over that.
I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying.
Filed under: feelings, life, problems, late night thoughts, stream of thought