I’m getting ready to embark on a new journey as an author, after cleaning out my closet. It’s what my mom wanted me to be all along, which probably has something to do with why it’s taken me so long. I’m stubborn for no reason. It’s bitten me in the ass more times than I can recall, but here we are. Sigh.
I used to resent my mom for being able to read my mind. I know she couldn’t read my mind. However, she could guess so well I’ve spent serious time pondering whether she had some unique ability. I now know it’s because she raised me, and was the only person with whom I communicated more than head shakes and nods during my childhood.
It’s another thing that keeps biting me in the ass. My social skills suck. I estimate myself to be at the level of a middle schooler, only less sophisticated. It doesn’t do great things for my self-esteem. Nevertheless, it’s where I’m at on a good day. I’ve just recently (since 2015) begun putting forth an effort to communicate with strangers. I’m consistently failing miserably.
In my defense, it’s freaking rocket science. I’m overwhelmed and astonished by the difficulty. I’ve made error after error. For example, I go from, “hi,” to “I love you!” too quickly. Logic plays no role in socializing. In fact, all it seems to do is lead me wrong. People aren’t logical. There are a gazillion rules to every interaction, but they vary significantly by individual.
I’ve fancied myself as able to intuit quite well, but I’m learning my intuition doesn’t extend to communicating with people. I can’t guess what others are thinking, and I have no idea why they behave as they do. So far, all I do is collect signals I feel are excellent, and respond accordingly. Then I find out my initial premise was wrong, and everything after, pathetic at best.
I assume others like me because I like them. I expect everyone I encounter to be fabulous, so long as I’m willing to wait patiently while they reveal my prediction correct. Wrong. Most people don’t like me and don’t give a shit how I feel about them. I have no idea how they regard me, other than not positively. It usually takes an excruciating amount of time for me to realize it, which sucks.
If I had a dollar for every person I’ve told I love in the last three years, only to find out later they can’t stand my ass; I’d have enough to pay for some therapy. Sadly, treatment can just do so much when you’re as effing clueless as me. I’ve tried using algorithms to help me get a handle on things, but I don’t have enough data. Acquiring the data hurts my heart.
I’ve reached a point where I understand why others don’t tell people how they feel about them. Even though it’s illogical to withhold these things; I should employ a George Costanza Opposite Action policy. It would be impossible for it to produce worse results. How I feel about people needs to be a firmly held secret. Telling the person seems to be the quickest method of severing all contact.
So apparently, if I want someone to cease acknowledging my existence, just tell them I love them. I got it. But not really. I don’t get it at all. I don’t think I’m capable of getting it. At this point, all I’m up for is preventing further failures where I have control. I don’t understand why people say things they don’t mean; especially when they do it repeatedly. I feel like the butt of a joke I don’t get, and it hurts.
So I’m going to work on being aloof. It’s not the first time I’ve recognized a need to acquire this skill. I just hate having to do things by rote. I got stubborn last time I found myself flailing with attempts at socializing. I decided I was going to say what I feel because people die, and then it’s too late. It’s not working out. Instead, I’ve finally figured out I’m my own best friend. It’s probably hilarious how long it took me to get here. 😶