Melodious Inkwell: Stream of Consciousness

I may forever feel left out of things. It must be something I’m doing. I know I have a complex about people turning their backs to me - but that complex arose out of the fact that too many people turn their backs to me and ignore what I have to say. I feel smart. I feel like what i have to say is important. But sometimes I also feel as though I’m not saying anything at all. I have no relevance. Why would anyone care what I say? Every circle of friends I’ve ever had, I’ve been on the fringes of. What is it about me? Which came first, reticence or invisibility?

For the past hour I’ve read enriching, entertaining journal entries, blogs and articles, all of which invited comments. I started half a dozen times in half a dozen places to make a contribution, and ended up deleting most of them because I felt like what I was saying was irrelevant. Fluff. Nobody would notice. It’s not going to make them like me any better. I felt like a fawning fangirl, trying too hard to make people like me. People don’t want to be my friend just because I like them. I have to contribute something too. But I go blank. Nobody notices that, either.

I have met two or three guys online in the past month or so, and we chat online, and half the time we sit in silence because nobody can think of anything to say. I even went on a date with one and sat there the whole time in silence, panicking, wondering what the hell was I thinking, what on earth made me believe I could do this, one-on-one with someone? Why can’t I think of anything to say? Is my brain really that empty? Is it because I am in isolation from the world except for my broadband connection? My theory used to be that the cliched, expected phrases we all utter are empty and soulless; I don’t use them for the sake of just using them; but I have nothing left to replace them. Now I wonder if I’m what’s empty. Intelligence without contribution. What’s the point? I may as well be stupid.

Don’t even get me started on trying to find female friends.

Maybe Shauna being gone is for the best. Maybe it’ll make me see who I really am without the comfort of a real friend who doesn’t need words to understand me. But maybe I don’t like that girl.

I begin to wonder if my honesty and openness is perceived as blunt and naive, if I’m not turning people off by telling them the truth about me instead of hiding behind games and half-lies. I’ve never wondered that before. Is the wondering caused by a change in me or my environment? God, to hell with games, I think I’ve been hiding behind Shauna. She talks enough for six people. I never have to talk if she’s around. Now I’m alone and it’s so strange. I’m strange.

I want to meet people I only know from their writing, people who know people that I know. I want to invite them, those I know and those I wish to know, to come in a group so we can all talk at once and nobody will notice if I’m in the corner, watching. I tried, and barely got an answer. I feel snubbed. Which is dumb, because they don’t know me. They may even have missed the invite in a public forum that gets rolled often. Now what do I do? Go to each person’s journal and post an invitation on an entry that .. doesn’t have anything to do with me? I feel so damn narcissistic lately, I can only relate events to my own experiences. Maybe that’s what we all do, but I feel like people just want me to shut up about me already. In reality, I am sure nobody even notices me. It’s what I tell Shauna when she thinks people don’t like her: People are too busy wondering if YOU don’t like THEM to be judging you. But nobody notices me.

Why are all my defenses breaking down? My self-confidence took a major blow when the man who was supposed to love me never told me so; but I’ve had pretty boys remind me I’m sexy and I almost believe it again. Internal validation is one thing, but my inner voice was so quiet and drowned I couldn’t believe it anymore, and it was given back in numerous small ways by various people. But at the same time, all the advice I’ve given people over the years seems to be backfiring. I used to be put together. I used to Get It. But it’s all breaking down. I am overweight now, moreso than I’ve ever been or thought I’d be, and instead of feeling like I’m rocking hot, I find it a monumental leap of faith to think that anyone thinks I’m even pretty. What happened to fat is beautiful? What happened to my confidence shining through?

Gone, all gone. Alone.

I have to choose, now. I have an apartment almost lined up for the spring. It’s actually upstairs in the building where Shauna used to live, which is neat, because she loved her landpeople. In an odd twist of fate, the girl who lives there now is my newest webdesign client (second-newest, I have two on the go). Her dad owns the building. We share the same birthday (26 days from now), too.

So I can choose to move there. It’s about 2km from work, which would allow me to walk and lose some of that debilitating extra weight.

Or I can choose to move to Halifax and be near Shauna and dozens of amazing folk who, if I can extend myself, just might like me back.

A job, or friends? Which is more important?

I just don’t know.