I want to talk more about my brain and how it works, but also how I have to constantly monitor what I say. In the prior post about the former, I was talking about how fringe I am, even in places where I feel mostly welcome. In the latter category, in yesterday’s post, I mentioned how I have to constantly figure out what Ican say to normies and what I can’t.
Side note: Because I’m usually extremely good at reading the room, it really bugs me when I fuck up. Quite plainly, it’s part of my anxiety and how I try to control my environment.
Side note to the side note: I see it in my mother, and it’s so clear how she tries to control her anxiety by endlessly spinning out over what might happen. She tries to plan for every little thing that could possibly happen in a vain attempt to make sure nothing bad happened. I do the same, but iI do it inwardly and not outwardly. That’s one reason it’s so hard for me to listen to her–it echoes the voice in my head.
I know that other people aren’t thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about myself. However. I also know that people notice me because I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m Asian an a very white area, and I just have a distinct look. I wear all black, have a funky pair of glasses, and my hair (that I wear up in a high pony and halfway braid) reaches my waist (when done up). And I have huge boobs. Believe me–I don’t fade into the background.
You know that The Hulk quote, “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry.” That’s me. I’m always angry. Before my medical crisis, I was able to keep in in control except on rare occasion. Now, I have a much harder time modulating it. I would add, “I’m always anxious” to that. Anxious about being outed as a weirdo. Or rather, as being super weird. I thin kit’s fairly obvious just by looking at me that I’m not normal.
You know what? I’m not sure that’s true any longer. Now that I’m middle-aged, maybe I can get more of a pass. I still have huge tits, though. And I still have people talking to me when there’s no need for that.
*Restrains urge to go off on a thousand-word rant about charisma*
This is how my brain works, by the way. Me going on tangent after tangent until there’s no main path any longer. I’m used to it by now, but I’m still slightly amused when I start veering wildly off path. I promise you that I fully intend to write what I initially thought about in my mind. It’s just that so many things are interconnected to me, I can’t stick with just one.
At least now I know why that is rather than when I was a kid and just thought my mind was haywired. Well, to be fair, at first, I thought everyone thought the way I did. I mean, it was so clear in my head, why wouldn’t it be clear to others as well?
It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I realized many people did not think the way I did. It wasn’t until another ten years had passed that I figured out why. It wasnt from my family, that’s for sure.
Sometimes, I really wish I had known this about myself wehn I was a child. I feel like it’s too late for me now, even though I know that’s not true. I could live for another forty years, though I doubt I will. I don’t know why I say that. Both my parents are in their eighties, so it’s possible I could live another thirty years.
Side note: When I was 26 and my mother was 55, I had a flash that I would not reach her age. I got it fixed in my brain for decades that I would be dead before I hit 55. Well, I’m now 55, and I’m alive. But I did die (twice) so see, two opposite things can be true at the time. Ok, sure, I didn’t stay dead,but I did die! Twice. How many people can say that?
It’s surreal when I think of it. I died. Twice. And then I lived to tell the tale. But I don’t tell the tale because I feel weird talking about it. I know that no one can relate. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say that. Literally no one can relate to it. I have tried to find other people like me–there aren’t any. There are people who survive near death experiences, yes, but not twice in a row from two cardiac arrests and a stroke. With very little permanent damage.
Side note: Not sure why I’m calling things side notes when there hasn’t been any throughline of this post. But here we go. I wish I didn’t intuit things that other people are thinking. It’s really annoying because I don’t feel like I can bring it up without maknig an ass of myself. Even when it’s clear what a person is thinking, I know that if i explicitly say it out loud, I’m going to look like the weirdo–again.
I’m tired. I should be in bed, but I’m not. Why? Because. Yes, that’s a childish answer, but I feel pretty childish. That’s what happens when I can’t get a decent amount of sleep. In this case, it’s partly my fault, but it’s mostly not. Other than my nine-hour stint, I’ve been having trouble falling asleep and staying asleep.
I wish I were naturally better at gauging what to say to normies. I have the general gist down, but there are times when I’m slightly off. And then I feel bad for two reasons. One, because to be honest, I do so much gauging, I–how do I say it? I get annoyed when I get it wrong. And if I get called out on it, I get mad. Especially if it’s not a lethal mistake, but one that is inconsequential. I’m trying my goddamn best, and sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s good enough. I know that people have their own sore spots, and I do my best to suss them all out. I can find most of them, but I’m not perfect. I’m going to miss it now and again, and I deserve a little grace.
But because I’m weird to begin with, I am not given that grace. I try not to let it bother me, but it does. Every time. You’d think I’d learn that I can’t please everyone all the time (which I know intellectually), but it still pinches me if not slaps me across the face. It’s one reason I don’t tend to stay in groups; it’s much too tiresome for me to constantly calibrate what is and isn’t ok to say. And, as I mentioned in a prevvious post, it’s usually something innocuous that should not be bothersome. This time, I had a hunch, but I really didn’t think it should have hit the way I think it did.
More tomorrow.