nny | (no subject) (Reply)

I just thought I should explain a little bit about who I am, about the way my mind works. Because I hate to say it, but this isn’t me.

It is, obviously it is. This is the idealised me, the me I’d really love to be in real life. I’m honest in my livejournal in a way that I would never even consider being to people I’ve known forever. There are a lot of things I never say, never do.

I have major issues with self confidence- I have none. I mean that genuinely. I’m half- wondering if you are all insane, wanting to read about me, of all people. I’m certain that the bubble will burst and you’ll come to your senses and ditch me. I trust very few people. I’m convinced that most of you are just humoring me. This is nothing personal, I assure you- I feel the same way about RL friends I’ve had for years. I’m deadly afraid of starting messenger conversations- I hate to be a bother, and wouldn’t want to inflict my company on anyone.

I have a tendency toward testing things to destruction. In real life I have a series of carefully constructed defense mechanisms to make sure people really like me. I wear unflattering clothes, don’t really bother with my hair, never wear makeup, because I’m worried that people only want me for the way I look. Unlikely, I know. I put myself down and tell people I’m crap because it’s easier on me than waiting for them to realise and tell me themselves. Even talking about porn is a defense mechanism, a way of undermining peoples’ conceptions of me, of keeping people at a distance.

Obviously, I don’t do well on the whole dating front. I secretly pity people who find me attractive, and think there must be something terribly wrong with them. There is a particularly persistent security guard at the shop down the road, and I’m considering changing shops because he makes me so uncomfortable- he’s not doing anything that could remotely be considered out of order, but the attention worries me. I worry that blokes are from an entirely different planet and I will never understand them. I don’t know that it’s possible for them to feel things the same way I do. I don’t know if it’s possible for anyone to love.

I’m bisexual, although that really makes no difference in my every day life. Someone once told me that I couldn’t know that until I had sex, which seems like bullshit to me- I doubt they’d have a problem believing I was straight merely because I hadn’t fucked a man. Which I haven’t, by the way. I am not a member of the GLBT society, I have never been to a gay club with intent, and I really don’t think I’ll ever tell my parents. This is partly because I’m pretty convinced I’m going to be single until I die.

I am strong, capable, can look after myself, but all of this is in quotation marks. It’s another defense mechanism- convincing the world that I don’t need anyone for anything. I hate people doing things for me, and always ask if they’re sure about three times before I will accept anything nice. Compliments just confuse me, and I’m absolutely awful at accepting them. I frequently have to countermand them with something bad, reminding people that I am shit, really. Despite this I am a complete feedback whore, and if a piece of writing doesn’t get feedback I’m utterly convinced it’s complete rubbish.

This self confidence thing also explains why I can never get anything written. I lose all confidence between writing and posting, and tend to delete old things. This is why drabbles worked so well for me- anything I can write and post in a single session is okay, I can deal with that, but heaven forbid I should go back to anything and still think it worth doing. I have disk upon disk, folder upon folder of story fragments, ideas, plots that I doubt I’ll ever do anything with, because I know that I can’t write.

I’m worried how far this is going to take me. I can see myself ending up deeply unsatisfied with my life because I won’t let myself admit I want something more, that I deserve it. I don’t know how it’s possible to change things for me. I don’t know how to let people in.

I’m writing this on my flatmate’s laptop, by the way. A distancing technique. It’s not really me! This, I think, explains my love of RPGs- they are my coping goggles. *grins and hugs

copinggoggles*

I now feel terribly self indulgent, for writing this. And I probably won’t believe it if you say something nice in return. I’m half tempted to delete it all now so *presses save*.

Thanks for reading.