The Aftertaste of Social Interaction

I’m so tired of doing this thing, where like – I don’t know if it’s like. Social anxiety or something maybe?

Where like. I don’t know if I quite have the energy to go out and deal with people, but I’m a bit on the fence about it, and I usually sort of feel like I *should* go deal with people, because apparently social interaction is good for you or something.

And I go out – and I think the weird thing is like. It’s never a bad time.

It’s not like it’s awful, or terrible, or like. Some kind of burning pain or anything.

It’s just. This slow seeping sour taste, that always seems to settle in just as I’m walking out the door. The slow shivers like when you don’t quite realize you’re cold until you notice that your teeth are chattering.

Then I’m home and I just get to pick at it, or let it sit in my joints.

Sometimes I can pick out the moment, but most of the time I can’t.

It’s just sort of this… looming, ominous shade that I can’t shake off.

I think maybe that’s the worst part of it. I feel like I should probably just stay in my corner, and keep to my own space. Because I never really feel like I’ve done that poorly?

I always seem to feel sort of like… I managed to not fuck up everything. I didn’t say anything horrifically wrong (…probably). I feel like I’ve done reasonably well, but… in the wrong direction.

I just hit a few too many missed steps and wound up in the wrong spot. It doesn’t matter if I’m still moving, because I’m not where everyone else is, and I don’t know how to *get* to where everyone else is.

So instead I kind of mostly just…coast along. I’m pretty good at smiling and nodding and pretending at the right beats (at least, I think I am?) but it’s just on the surface. It’s just skating, and there’s nothing underneath it.

Then the evening ends, and I get to go home, sit in my corner, and spend the entire night wishing than I had any kind of skill for shaking things off.

 

I think the worst part is that I can feel it whittling down at my social life. I have dinner with someone, and it doesn’t even go poorly, but I end up at home, tasting bitter and stuck in a cycle of obsessing and the absolute surety that I’ve somehow managed to make an utter fool of myself, and that really it would just be for the best if I don’t choose to make the same mistake again.

It builds up, and then I have this huge circle of people in my life that I feel like I probably should just never interact with, because it isn’t like it goes well, and maybe I used to be better at faking it? Or maybe I never noticed?

As it stands, I wish I could learn to just. *stop. talking*.

because it always seems clever and relevant at the time, until I realize that…it really isn’t. At all.

I’ve never been particularly good at not talking, but maybe if I could get better I wouldn’t have so many evenings, at home, in my corner, wishing that I never had to see any these people ever again.

It’s my own fault. I keep saying yes to things that I ought not be saying yes to.

I just keep thinking that I remember it not feeling like this. I used to be better at this shit.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s this town.

It’s probably most definitely a symptom of my ongoing adventures with shitty brain chemistry.

 

I think maybe what I really miss is being alone.

To Mexico!

A conversation that happened in my life:

 

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“I dunno.”

“I’m bored.”

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“Sure. Where?”

“How about Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“What are we going to do there?”

“….Get tacos?”

“Excellent.”

 

…so we did. And they were delicious.

Ineffective Insults

My Punk Mentor came over tonight, and then we found out about an art gallery opening/event/thing.

I happen to be wearing some truly magnificent blue lipstick this evening, which I had to refresh before heading out to any type of soirée, naturally.

I told Punk Mentor I had to touch up my make-up, and Punk Mentor responded “Whatever, Ziggy Stardust.”

To which I replied something along the lines of “FUCK YEEEEEEEEEESSSS!!!!!!!!! ZIGGY STARDUST IS LIKE. MY MOST FAVOURITE BOWIE EVER!!!!!”

And I proceeded to flail about appropriately.

 

He just gave me the headshake and left for the car

A Reasonably Major Detour

I am now stunningly free of my previous occupation, which is, to be honest, a little bit beautiful in pretty much every way imaginable.

My original plan (because we all know how much I love plans) was to go off and be a truck driver for a while.

(That plan is absolutely still in motion. That is definitely a thing that I am pursuing. I have the fucking 500 page permit study guide now, and sweet fuck is that ever intimidating, but, I digress.)

The plan to become a truck driver has been tabled until further notice, in light of several health issues popping up in family members still living in my hometown. As I am currently unemployed, I am uniquely qualified to drop all of the nothing that I have going on to head up and do my best to help out.

 

I fucking hate my hometown.

I hate it.

And, it has nothing at all to do with the town, or the people there. I just. – It’s a fucking wonderful town. There are so many opportunities there, for so many things, it’s a great place, a lot of people are just really, really happy there.

I still have people who live there, who mean so freaking much to me. (Driftpartner and Tawanda, for starters, but also just. So many people that I care about.)

But I fucking hate that town.

It’s a classic ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ moment.

It has nothing to do with the place or the people and entirely to do with my own history.

Part one of it, is honestly just that I was so deeply unhappy there, for so many years.

Part two of it, that’s harder for me to explain is the part that I know is entirely in my head.

I grew up in this town, I know…virtually everyone there. Everyone knows everyone. I can run into my school teachers at the grocery store. – And that’s all fine.

It’s just that, for some reason, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always had this feeling that success in my hometown…isn’t real.

–  Because even if I managed to be the most successful person ever to be in that town, I just have this feeling that I’ve not actually learned to be successful in life.

No matter what I accomplish there, none of it feels *true*.

Because I haven’t learned how to be successful in life, I’ve learned how to be successful in this one, teeny, out-of-the-way town, where as much as it might be my own merit getting me somewhere, it’s just as much that people remember me being on the swim team with their child Back In The Day.

It’s like. Inescapable nepotism, almost?

I go back, and I feel like it doesn’t matter who I am now, because everything that changed happened where these people didn’t see it.

So suddenly I’m the exact same as I was when I was fucking growing up.

I hate it.

It’s fucking suffocating.

-Which is, of course, only compounded by the part where I feel like…anything I try to do there is useless. Everything gained is inherently negated simply by the setting in which it happens.

Because none of it is a reflection of my actual ability.

It’s all just…cashing in on nostalgia.

Getting somewhere because I know the people to call, because I’ve always known the people to call, because it’s a teeny fucking town.

Someone says ‘I know I can give you this job, because I know you’re reliable’, but really I feel like it means ‘I’m going to give you this job, because I’ve known you since before you were able to talk’.

Which has… absolutely nothing at all to do with my character now, and who I am, and what I can do.

It also has to do with patterns of interaction?

Because I don’t want to be the person that I used to be, I was so fucking  miserable. It’s just so easy to get caught up in the same habits.

I feel like going back there is just… going *back*.

…which is absolutely overwrought and over-dramatic and what-the-fuck-ever.

 

I’m just so fucking tired of feeling like my life is stalling, and it feels practically impossible to move forward when I’m just… going back to my hometown.

Back into stasis.

Back to the same places I’ve always gone, and the same fucking things I’ve always done.

Which…is of course. It’s entirely up to me. I can make different decisions and do different things, and keep trying to move forward. That’s always going to be entirely on me.

It just seems so much easier to keep moving when there are no ruts to get stuck in.

Life Goals

I live in a strange town with really unique demographics, – which, is honestly really pretty fine for me, because I’m a weird kid and so oddities have a tendency to suit me fairly well.

I live in a Snowbird town, so most of the people who live here, are here for maybe about six months of the year, and most of them are solidly over the age of 60.

This is awesome for me, because it means that I’m meeting all of these incredible people who keep reminding me that like. – Everyone who ever says to a university student “These are the best years of your life” – like. They’re wrong.

About a million years ago, I wrote to my Wondertwin that I finally thought I understood what that meant. “These are the best years of your life” and she wrote back to me that no. It only stops being the best times of your life when you let it.

–  Now, to be sure, there are extenuating circumstances. This past year for me has…absolutely, most indefinitely not been the best times of my life. At all, by any definition. It sucked for many reasons, most stemming from troubles coping with brain chemistry.

And that happens. And that’s fine.

Because life isn’t always going to be wonderful. Sometimes it’s going to royally suck.

Even if you’re doing everything in your power to make your life better, sometimes it’s still going to suck.

The thing is…

I guess it’s really about hope?

One of my best friends in this town, she’s seventy-four, and last week, we made a plan to go to the cinema and sneak into a film. Because she hadn’t done it for decades, and I’ve never done it in my life.

I think on some level…that’s it, really. It’s just a constant process, reminding myself that I don’t need to be defined by nebulous limits somehow put in place by ****society at large*** or whatever.

I think… maybe it’s to do with the idea that…whoever you are, as a person, you can continue to be, no matter how old you are.

It’s not that desires and abilities don’t change – they do, and they *should*, but perhaps it’s just… living with people who embody the fact that you don’t ever have to outgrow anything.

It’s good to have that in my life. I deeply appreciate it.