Why I'm here

Really, I should stop whining about not having anyone to talk to. That's the purpose of this blog--to keep up the conversations in my head as if there were someone listening. Somewhere along the line, I started to get concerned about reader interest, but I never started writing here for anyone except me. It was because I really had no one to talk to.

I tried to explain to Frank tonight that it's hard for me to try to be the person that everyone else likes--especially since that means I need to be someone different in at least five different contexts a day. First I have to figure out what each person (who matters) likes and doesn't like. Then I have to remember which traits to assign to myself and produce on demand depending on who's around me. It has been exhausting.

More than exhausting, it has been frustrating. It has resulted in failure. Despite my efforts at presenting the custom-tailored personality on demand, I still have no one to talk to on a regular basis. I'm annoying in any context. Boring, too, apparently. How embarrassing is that? Frank isn't interested in any of the things I would normally talk about in the course of the day. He actually came out and said that about a year-and-a-half ago. I was down to what I thought was the last topic I could still chat about, but Frank was standing there at the kitchen sink. He stopped what he was doing, looked me in the eye, and said, "I just don't care. This isn't anything I have any interest in hearing about."

And here's the part of that that really sucks. He goes on and on and on every day about the same four topics: Thuy, the annoying woman he works with, public policy related to federal funding where he works, fixing the upholstery on his car seats, and the dog. Now, for the most part, I've heard it all many times over--it's just variations on a theme, but at least I am polite enough to listen and to bite my tongue and to not blurt out that I don't give a shit about whatever it is he's going on and on about. I don't walk away, interrupt, or change the subject while he's mid-sentence. This is my life, though, and exactly what I experience every day at home and outside of it.

I know I need to just shut the fuck up. I get it--I have nothing of value to say and I'm fucking boring. Still, is it so goddam hard for people to be somewhat polite, tolerant, and at least pretend to be engaged--like I do?

When I pointed out to Frank that I had essentially stopped talking at home, I also said it was painful to me that he hadn't really noticed. He said he had noticed, but assumed that I just didn't feel like talking. Then he accused me--as he often does--of intentionally remembering everything he says that I don't like. Well, yes, I told him, that's exactly what I do because all of those things are lessons--they are the things I need to catalogue and remember because that's what becomes the rules about how I'm supposed to behave. If something makes you unhappy, I need to never forget it so I can make sure not to do it again. I've done this my whole life, and as the third child in the birth order, I always observed what got my older siblings in trouble so I would know not to do whatever that was.

If I could take a vow of silence, I would, but it's not how my brain is wired. I still feel compelled to talk. I told Frank that the anxiety and effort of trying to remember all of these lessons so I don't disappoint or exasperate anyone is proving not to be worth it, and what I really want is to just be dead so it will be over, so it will stop, so I can stop. I told him that I have nothing. The house is his, not mine. I have no friends here--not even remotely close by. I have nothing. Trying to be me hasn't worked out, and trying to be who everyone else likes me to be hasn't changed anything, either. What's the point? My whole life has become about trying to make other people more comfortable, and in return I get...the loud and clear message to be neither seen nor heard.

Frank told me I should go back to therapy, but therapy is stupid--a scam. I am through paying someone to sit there and listen to me. That may be the most humiliating thing I've ever had to do to give myself the illusion that someone is paying attention.

I do solemnly swear

I won't leave debt and I won't leave a mess. The bills will be paid ahead for at least a month.

I promise.

Something to ponder

Recently I was reading a post on a blog and I came across a list of qualities two mothers had agreed they wanted their children to have as they became independent thinking individuals. The list is:
1) Be people that other people choose to spend time with
2) Be empathetic
3) Be generous
4) Be forthright and honest
5) Be authentic
6) Be a contributor, not a consumer

I'm sure my parents didn't put any thought into the kinds of people my siblings and I should become, other than hard-woring and embracing concepts of common sense. The list resonated with me because many years ago, I, personally, decided to be mindful of how I should present myself to the world and what impact my behavior might have.

I decided to try to be a good person, a kind and compassionate person, and someone who can respond to need, preferably without the loud clatter of judgment to distract me toward that end.

For the most part, I have succeeded. I'm no moral giant by any means, but I do try to take the high road by habit, even when that hill is painfully steep and I'm traveling alone.

Despite my attempts at adding value to the world, I have failed miserably regarding the first trait on this list: 1) Be people that other people choose to spend time with.

I have tried, grown, and evolved throughout my life, but I remain infinitely dorky and undesirable, nonetheless. Or, maybe I need to dial down #4.

Sigh

I am so tired of being treated as if I am invisible, not worth listening to, out of sight--out of mind. Although I do believe my sister always was an evil bitch, she was, it appears, right when she declared I was a "non." As in nonexistent.

I am offended when the person I'm talking to turns and talks to someone else when I am in mid-sentence.

At least Jolie checks in dutifully and I give deep thanks for that, but I try to limit my babble and check-ins with her, as I believe that is the root of the entire issue with my life and it is driving my lack of relationships.

Hmmm. I've worn out my welcome in the world. Of course, the people who see me regularly sure do appreciate all of the work I do and the help I provide and the insights and research I contribute and they tell me how much that matters...but I as a human being do not. I am valued as a provider of services only. I wish I could articulate this better.

Nobody gives a shit about me. My own mother doesn't say anything nice about me.

My lack of relationships is not due to a lack of trying on my part. I have tried in every way I know how. I have employed every piece of Dear Abby advice on this issue. I am involved in my community, I ask politely after others, but the truth is, nobody wants me around. They simply dread the thought of being around me. I observe. I listen. I see it clearly. I am astute in this regard.

If I were to kill myself, say, during one of those periods when our office closes to save on expenses and funding, apart from Frank, I wonder how long I would lie dead somewhere before it occurred to anyone--anyone--that they hadn't heard from me in a very long time.

So, this is my new challenge. No outgoing phone calls, no email that isn't work-related, no Facebook, no initiated conversation beyond the polite hello.

I am going to try not to talk anymore. What a big fucking relief THAT's going to be to the world. Yes, I do get it.

Shut the fuck up, May, shut the fuck up May, shut the fuck up, May, shut the fuck up, May.

With any luck, I'll have a heart attack or aneurysm or something that will kill me soon. At least Frank will get the insurance money along with the quiet. I do believe it's important to contribute to the comfort of others whenever I can.

On an unrelated note, Frank has been working on our taxes. He said we should be getting a large refund, and then he started reciting the list of home-improvement projects we can tackle with that money.

I am going to go to my grave having never taken a vacation with my husband. I hate this about him. I resent it deep in my gut. Yes, sure, I could go somewhere alone. Sure. Because that's all I can do or ever will be able to do. Nobody wants to spend time with me. Not even my husband. Why have fun when you can fix something in the house?

Next week, I'm changing my withholding.

I can think all along the spectrum

Lately, I'm trying to counter every negative thought with a thought of gratitude or appreciation. It doesn't make me feel any more worthwhile, but it reminds me that there's something to acknowledge about my day.

While driving to work today and feeling sad about feeling so unloved, I composed this list. New list tomorrow, even if not blogged:

• I am grateful to have a job.
• I am grateful that I earn enough money to pay my bills.
• I am grateful that I have a safe and pleasant home.
• My pets make me happy.
• I am fortunate to have a responsible and honest husband.
• I am relieved to have a reliable car

But more than anything

I really hate to be ignored. I hate to be told I'm irrelevant or to hear someone be told that I should not be taken seriously.

Diminishing my worth is demeaning in its own way, but ignoring me completely is what makes me want to take that cue and run with it--into traffic, off a cliff, whatever.

Valetine's sweet

And so it goes. Seven years today...

Doh.

I just tried to make a bracelet, but being the dorky moron I am, I made it way too fucking big. May, you suck. Stop trying to be creative. It's not working.

An ache in the heart

I really, really, really miss Joanna. I miss talking to her. I miss her insights and opinions. I miss intelligent conversation. OK, I have intelligent conversations with Jolie, but I always worry about wearing out my welcome.

I miss Joanna a lot.

Socially networked

I closed one of my Facebook accounts this week. You're only supposed to have one, anyway, and technically, one of my accounts wasn't really "me." It started to feel ridiculous after a while, especially since I only had one "friend," and that's someone I speak to regularly, anyway.

Meanwhile, back on my real Facebook page, I'm holding steady with 78 "friends." I knew almost all of them long before I had a Facebook account. Some of them are acquaintances whose friend requests I accepted because it felt too awkward to decline. Most I thought I might want the connection with, although I frequently reconsider the wisdom of that decision.

I don't know how people can have hundreds of friends on Facebook or why they would want to--unless they are a public figure. When I first joined Facebook, I sent friend requests to six people. That was it. Everyone else found me on their own. I've received requests I declined after some thought, and others that took me by surprise along the lines of, "You don't even like me. WTF?" Others I had written out of my life years--if not decades--ago, and I felt no mellowed nostalgia prompting me to push those doors open again. There is simply no point.

The more people I add to my friends list, the less freely I can say what I'm thinking. A large friends list full of vague acquaintances presents too many variables to keep track of.

Maybe I'm not cut out for Facebook. Sometimes I feel too exposed; other times, too stifled because I don't want to offend anyone with what's on my mind. Most of the time, though, I just feel ignored. Very ignored.

This weekend, I'm struggling with the automated feature that lets you know when several of your friends have a common friend, and it suggests you might want to be friends with that person, too. This time around, that would be my older brother. I've spoken to him once in about three years, and that was over a year ago--and he had the conversation reluctantly.
So, he's on Facebook now and he has friended my cousins, my sisters-in-law, my nephew and a niece, but once again, I'm the elephant in the room.

Maybe it's karmic payback for all of the friend requests I ignore without any acknowledgement whatsoever. Maybe it's a reminder that I was born into the wrong family.

I stand by my decision to not accept any other new friend requests, though, because at this point, what I really want is for the people who know me to be sincere about the connection we supposedly already have.

I've never been so lonely, and that's a sad situation for someone with 78 Facebook connections.

Double take

Compulsively channel surfing through commercial breaks is a personal trademark. I can time it perfectly to be back at the show at the precise moment the commercial break ends without missing a line of dialogue.

If I'm on the computer, though, I can't multitask with a remote. This is how I came to have a moment of feeling puzzled and intrigued at the same time.

We were watching something on OWN, the new Oprah network. It must have been Mystery Diagnosis because that's pretty much the only thing we watch on OWN. I am sick and I am exhausted, and Frank was cooking dinner, so I didn't change the channel when a commercial break came on. A spot for a new Lisa Ling show came on. Actually, it ran several times, but it wasn't until the third or fourth time that I looked up and actually saw the video.

It took me a second. I did a double take. I could have sworn...

Someone I knew many years ago is in the process of a male-to-female transgender transition. I am almost sure I saw him/her on the promo for Our America with Lisa Ling. If it's not her/him, then she has a blocky-body-and-blonde-pageboy-wig identical twin. It was uncanny.

Of course, now I haven't seen the commercial again--mostly because I've been onto another network since Mystery Diagnosis finished. I've actually been flipping between channels at the commercial break hoping to find a commercial. Odd, but inquiring minds really want to take a closer look and pay attention this time.

I checked said person's blog, but there is no mention, not even a hint, of being included in a Lisa Ling documentary. Well, the gender identity issues were kept secret for over 45 years, so why not this?

Viral

I'd like a new immune system, please. This one doesn't work right. Oh, and I'd like a side of normal central nervous system with that. Thanks.