Invisibly Antisocial.

Crowds.

They suck.

People kind of suck in general, but people in herds are f*ed up.  You’d rather cease existing than be in one.

I always manage to act a fool within them.  Social media gives me a great platform for my foolishness.  I have a great way to say all the things I shouldn’t, to way more people than I should.

And if I participated in actual socialization, this wouldn’t be a problem.

But, I don’t participate in actual socialization.  I have no location to be to interact socially with like-minded individuals.  Even if I did I’d probably hate all of them for fabricated excuses that lamely led me back to my own inadequacies, but by them time I realized my own folly it would be too late to save whatever fragile companionships I haphazardly established.  What happened to playlist.com?  I would love to listen to a few songs right now.  Stupid. Whatever.

I just got myself off.

See, you can’t say that.

But I did.

I said it, and I want to take it off.  I want to replace it with some other truth to make my point.  But I can’t think of anything that better makes my point than sharing with an unknown world that I *just before typing this* had an orgasm.  That’s a story in and of itself, an interesting journey into comprehending my own prudish nature, but, not a story for here.

Herein lies evidence that I have absolutely NO social aptitude.  I have no ability to make or keep friends. I have no filter.  I have some filter.  I do.

If the goal of my blog is to delve into my psyche and try to figure out not only how I am fucked up, but why I am fucked up and how to fix it I should continue on into an exploration about childhood events that led to this personality trait development and then follow with some kind of challenge that will apply to me and may at some point apply to my reader.

So, why am I socially inept an awkward in my oververbose nature?  Honesty.  I think it breaks down to honesty being the ultimate sin, error, mistake, gregarious departure from expectation, indiscretion, I can remember from my childhood.  I don’t remember ever being severely punished, I just remember at a very early age developing a strong desire to do exactly as expected.  I remember being scared to death of what would happen if I fell outside the parameters of the expectations.  Except for being choked and thrown, I don’t remember being severely punished really, not ever…  I just know that ever since I was little honesty was the ultimate action.

I get it.  As an adult it feels incredibly violating to be lied to.  It is hurtful and angering.  Lies are pavement for a shit life.  Lies never work.  Even the ultimate little white lie “no, you don’t look fat in that” can lead to some really embarrassing, and therefore, harmful situations.  Lies show weakness.  Lies show a lack of character for which there is no excuse.  Integrity is all that really matters in life.

That seems a little black and white.  Life is never black and white.

Lies.  Lies weave the social tapestry.  That can’t be true, but that’s how it seems.  I feel like my not being able to social is directly tied with my strong opinions about lies and integrity.  This connection is slightly elusive.  I think i just wanted to use the word elusive.

I say what I think.  I have a filter, but for the most part I don’t know when to say, or when to not say, the things.  And the things are usually observations that people don’t want to hear.  “You’ve gained a couple pounds, are you ok?” “Why does your kid cry so much?” “Are you ok?”  “You look tired.”  “Oh I hate that store!”

It’s just honest.  And then I don’t back down.

So then I just avoid trying altogether.

 

My mind drifted.  For a moment to damned Nick.  Nick, was an asshole.  Nick harassed the life out of me.  Nick didn’t give a flying fuck that I was getting abused, or that at 8 I had no help getting meals or doing laundry or other chores that I didn’t know needed to be done, so I didn’t do them.  Apparently I smelled bad.  Apparently, that gave Nick the right to tell me what a loser I was every time he saw me.  He got in my face a couple times, but mostly it was overt name calling and teasing.  Mostly it was him gathering friends to make fun of the ugly, smelly little corn flake.  Fuck you Nick.

Sometimes when I want to socialize, I think of Nick.  I wish I could forget him.  I hate him.  I think that if I try to socialize they will notice that I smell funny.  They will notice that I look about fifteen years older than I am because I was around so much smoking as a kid.  They will notice that I dress like a hippo.  The’ll notice that I can’t shut up once I start, so I try to never start.  They won’t let me talk anyway, most people don’t.  I guess I’m not especially interesting.  And then I want to die again.  Like I did every day I had to go to school, and every day I stayed home.  I’ll think of all the ways I could.  Try to imagine a reality where I concoct a brilliant, foolproof plan that makes it not look self-inflicted.  But I won’t.  Because as usual I know, that just multiplies your pain and spreads it out, for everyone to enjoy.  So instead I will continue to march along.  A good little ant in our pointless existence.

 

I won’t ever forget the cruelty of nearly every social interaction I have ever endured, but I will do my damnedest to make sure it isn’t like that for anyone else.

So I guess I’ll just continue avoiding socialization.  I’ll continue to shy away from talking, even though I love to talk.  Partially because I’m not good enough at sorting out the truths we tell from the truths we hide, and partially because I don’t want them to notice the invisible hippo.

But, I’ll invite.

You ok today?

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