Monday, August 31, 2015

I'm a blast at parties.


This past Saturday was my buddy E’s birthday. She’s had a rough go of things this year with her divorce from a not-so-nice guy and the emotional and financial fallout from that. Saturday was the first time I've seen her house full of people (he was controlling about friends and social events) and she seemed really happy. 

A highlight of the night for me was when I remarked that when the teacher population was high, all they talked about was school policy, and when the ratio changed and the childhood friends came around, they told old stories of things they did to each other ("You told on me to the teacher! Remember?!"). They then asked me to choose a subject for the conversation and I called their bluff and said “Syria.” I was ignored. They went back to talk about teacher drama.

It was an okay night. I mean, I got progressively more comfortable as the night wore on and the group whittled down. I don’t like large groups. I don’t like strangers. I don’t like people screaming over music to have a conversation. It was just a bit much. 

I also don't really like a segment of E's friends - and she knows this. I also don't drink, so I'm sober to deal with the social awkwardness of it all.

I made an effort because I knew it was important to E.

It’s just such an absurd combination of being both an out of body experience, whilst also never having been so bodied. I'm disconnected and not at ease in the space, the people and the ease with with they socialize being totally alien to me, and then my body is this anchor of which I'm hyper-aware, in that I'm us uncomfortable with the space I occupy. I can't be easy and free. I am not easy and free.

Someone made a fat joke at one point, and I just sat there and did my best to seem unphased. I guess gym teachers have a way of making the chubby kid feel like shit no matter the age or place.

I'm just not a happy, positive, fun person right now. I am able to admit to a good day, and can absolutely understand my being a pleasure to be around on those days. But inviting me to a party when I'm not doing well just seems like a bad idea. I wish it were more acceptable to bow-out due to depression.

I feel like the opposite of an empath. Instead of being able to sense the emotions of others (though I am highly sensitive) I instead radiate my own feelings, bringing everyone around me down. Like if I were to be relegated to some old cabin, all the flowers around me would shrivel and die. And on a good day, sure, they might bloom, but on a bad day you’d stay clear, and even at a distance you could smell the rot.

I hate that it's such an ordeal. Me doing something as innocuous as going to a fucking birthday party. 

Man-alive... 

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