I had an interesting weekend. It was a weekend I would like to spend some time thinking about, but there is too much noise in my brain and I can't turn it off. I'm trying my hardest to sit here at work, task less, and write this blogs about my most intimate feelings. But thanks to my A.D.D. I can't ignore my co-workers conversation on religion long enough to form a complete thought in my brain, much less form it into a functional and complete sentence in this blog. I can't stop random thoughts about laundry or work or last nights dreams from intruding into my mind when they are so very uninvited.
And this is the insanity I have been dealing with all weekend. It's worse than it usually is, and when my inability to concentrate diminishes the level of my anxiety and insomnia rise. So at this moment I am so tired I could lean back and try for a nap right here at work, but too filled with an unexplainable gut wrenching sensation to actually fall asleep. Do you understand my dilemma?
For most people the weekend I had would leave them feeling like they are made of sunshine and puppy dogs. Most sane people, the kind of people who like people, would be thinking about the possible prospects ahead of them after a weekend like mine. But me? I don't like people. OK, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration. I like some people, like my family. I could spend all weekend wasting time involving myself with their crazy antics, and the truth is I would much rather spend the whole damn weekend fighting with them than going to a place where I had to interact with strangers because strangers are scary.
It's funny to sit back and remember the days when I was a shinning socialite. I had to be the life of the party, and couldn't end the evening without making a new acquaintance. I wonder how I went from "Miss. in the spotlight" to "Miss. back stage hiding in the closet". I think my new found introverted personality might be why I am stuck here with a consuming gut wrenching sensation, because for the first time in a while I forced myself to get out into the world and talk to a stranger.
And yes, the stranger was a boy. In fact, he seemed like a rather fantastic boy.
Do you know that at this moment I feel like I might regret writing that sentence because some day down the road he might read it and in some bizarre way it might mess something up? The problem is, I am always so worried what people are thinking or how they may react to me, to my family, to my friends, to my thoughts, even to the color of my t-shirt! The only reason I worry about these things is because I worry I will be misunderstood, and there is nothing worse to me than being misunderstood. To make things worse I tend to have different reactions to people than a normal person does because I can't turn off these thoughts floating through my mind. For example, a simple goodnight kiss can make me freeze up. And I'm not talking about the way a person might freeze up because they are a bit nervous in anticipation; when I freeze I forget to breathe and my heart stops pumping and I almost forget what I am doing because a million thoughts start to flow through my mind. No matter how hard I try I just can't stop them. Some of the thoughts are so simple, like which way should I tilt my head? Or, I wonder where this will lead. But the other thoughts are not so simple. I am almost sure most people don't wonder like I do if this one little kiss could be the beginning of my demise because I don't know what's coming next, and damn it I would like to know what will happen next so I can start worrying about that as well. Most people just shut off their mind, pucker their lips, and enjoy the moment. I wish I was one of those people.
And it's because I worry about small things like a kiss that I start to worry even more about why I worry about something as small as a kiss. I know I have scars from my past just like every one else. At one time or another someone has done something wicked to me, and like any normal and healthy human beings I have done my best to let it go and move on. It's just that I wonder if maybe some of those people scared me so badly I can't enjoy the simple things in life without a constant worry that those scars may be reopened. Basically, I'm trying to say I can't handle something as simple as a kiss because my daddy didn't hug me enough as a kid.
And suddenly I sound like someone who has a lot of emotional baggage. This, I hope, is not true and mostly because I have spent a good deal of my life accepting and overcoming my emotional hurtles. I just think it would help if I had someone who knew more about this stuff than me, someone I can run to when I can't understand and comprehend what I am feeling. I have no one like that. I don't have a therapist, and my family is quite possibly less qualified to understand what I feel and how to deal with it than I am. Coping skills were not something implemented into my family. My stepfather's solution to everything was to get angry and hurt people, so when I had trouble with my math homework I felt an irresistible urge to stab myself and others in the eye with a dull No. 2 pencil.
It's a wonder I found a way to overcome that kind of rage, and if you were to see me try to do an algebra problem now you'd be surprised how calm and relaxed my demeanor is even though I have no idea what I am doing. In fact, I am a very calm and laid back person considering all the worry and anxiety that goes on in my head. And I know it's a vicious cycle, a cycle I am concerned will doom me to a life spent alone talking to my fifteen cats while I watch soap operas and imagine to the point of delusion that it is my life on the T.V. screen.
I seriously do not want to be the cat lady. I need to get over my anxiety and find a way to believe that if I stop and take the time to care about someone new they just might take the time to care for me back, they just might not take advantage of my good will and kind nature, they just might not move half way across the country without giving me a proper goodbye. And even though I have moved on from that dark time in my life I still worry that every new person I encounter will do the same thing. truth be told, I could care less if the majority of the people I meet walk in and out of my life, chances are they were annoying me anyways, but what if I just happen to find that one person that feels like they belong? What if they do leave? The last time I suffered that kind of blow it almost killed me, I don't know if I could survive it again.
Do you see why I hate meeting new people yet? It's not because I hate people (not all of them anyways), it's because my mind is then thrust into this kind of thought process, and you can seriously only spend so much time in one day thinking about the what ifs before you go absolutely insane. I doubt It will matter because if I keep letting my mind enter this downward spiral, if I don't learn to just shut it up and enjoy the smaller moments, I will be that old lonely cat lady. If I believed in God my prayers would include something about how I wish never to become that, but since I am an Atheist I am forced to believe things happen to you because you make then happen. So I had better put on my big girl panties again, tell my mind to stop fucking worrying about all that nonsense, and just enjoy the people around me. And I mean really enjoy them.
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