I'm a Big Girl Now

I’ve always been someone who hasn’t had more than one or two close friends. Until a few years ago, that was mostly okay. Meaning, I didn’t feel lonely and if I wanted to do something and there wasn’t anyone available to come along, I was fine on my own. As I moved into adulthood and got busy with work and marriage and other stuff like that, I hardly noticed a lack of friendships. It’s not that I hid in my house. I hung out with people when doing things, like playing in an orchestra or going to needlework guild meetings. Since I tend to do better when I share a common interest with people, these sorts of friendships were more than enough for me.

In many ways, it was nice to leave behind the social minefields of high school and college. Mostly I could be my peculiar, prickly self and people either accepted me or avoided me. Occasionally, I’d meet someone and we’d connect on things beyond the surface stuff so many people seem happy with.

Then I discovered social networking. The very concept of “social” “networking” clashes with my introverted core. But somehow, somewhere in my psyche, an insecure demon child was let loose. Suddenly, I wanted to be on center stage, all attention focused on me, while I caterwauled about inconsequential thoughts and doings from my life. And when I didn’t get enough attention, I was hurt.

Ugh. If I’d encountered someone like this in my offline world, I’d have been disgusted and probably would have pitied her at least a bit. Considering it’s myself, I’ve begun a cycle of self-loathing that I’ve only started to truly identify over the past year. It’s a cycle I intend to break over the next few weeks. I have to because I’m tired of being this miserable person.

I have to learn how to view this like any other group of people I might associate with based on common interests. Here the interest happens to be these online spaces. There are some groups where there are a few more things than just that, like knitting, books, or libraries. Beyond that, we probably wouldn’t hang out in the offline world.

My life is compartmentalized. I’m okay with that because it keeps me from getting overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean I don’t like people or that I’m unaware of others. It does mean that generally, if someone is part of one part, except in rare circumstances, they won’t be involved with other areas of my life.

Social networking will become an occasional thing instead of the activity my life revolves around. I’m not going to be bothered by silly things like lack of comments on posts, fewer followers, and a bunch of other truly silly things that I’ve allowed to define my worth.

The few true friends I’ve made will understand and accept this direction. Those who practice “out of sight, out of mind” may not, but they don’t really matter.

It’s the holiday season when all the advertisements are telling you to be happy, dammit! Because that’s what you’re supposed to do at this time of year. Get together with people, exchange gifts, and be joyous.

If you don’t, there is something wrong with you.

And if there is something wrong with you, it better be cancer, or the death of your mother, or any number of equally tragic things that don’t make people tell you to “cheer up” or “get over it.”

After all, depression or SAD or anxiety is all in our heads. If I had more fortitude or strength of character, I’d pull myself out of the funk and get with the program.

Yeah.

NO!

I’d love to feel enthusiastic about the holidays. Most years I enjoy putting up the tree. We’ve had a tradition since before we got married. The husband gets me an ornament every year that represents something important from that year. When I take the tree down, I write a note to tuck in the ornament box. The next year, we read the notes and reminisce about past years, where we were, what had happened…goofy stuff like that.

This year, the tree will remain in the basement. I don’t care about the ornaments. I couldn’t care less about buying presents, baking cookies, listening to Christmas music, or any of the other things that would normally be on the agenda for this month.

I want the month to be over. I want the year to be over. Honestly, if I could, I’d go somewhere quiet until all the fuss had passed.

That’s what depression is doing to me this year.

I know, rationally, I have so much to celebrate. I’ve got a good husband, a cozy home, a job, food to eat, clothes to wear, a family who cares about me, a few friends. Compared to many people, my life is sweet.

Don’t think I don’t know it. I do.

The irritating thing with depression is it becomes one of those circular things. I feel depressed because my brain is wired wrong. I know there is no other reason to feel this way. And I’d like to not feel like this. Which makes me angry. Which makes me frustrated. Which makes me sad. And around I go.

So, leave me be. If you don’t shove your merry don’t my throat, I won’t shove my fist down yours.

I haven’t felt like blogging in several weeks. This year has left me feeling wrung out and less than myself. There is one week left in the semester. Two weeks left in a year that has, honestly, almost killed me.

That sounds so dramatic. Yet, it’s the truth. A hard truth. Some of the dark times this year have been as dark as I’ve ever experienced. While I’d never say I was suicidal, the times when I was at my lowest were times when I wouldn’t have cared if I died. I wanted to be free of this life.

Looking back, this was a downward spiral beginning almost five years ago. That was a period when I experienced some of the worst bullying of my adult life. This might have been the worst bullying of my entire life, including high school. Until this year.

While I no longer feel anger towards those people, I am still mystified by the hypocrisy of their actions. See, the bullies were a group of women who were self-proclaimed feminists. The type who talk about empowering women, supporting each other, blah blah blah. Yet, they had no problems ripping apart a person over a simple misunderstanding about something that was truly inconsequential.

The bullying was bad enough that I withdrew my application for a higher position at that school. Eventually, it was bad enough that I left. I found another job. But, the damage had been done.

I had become a victim. The experience left me bitter, angry, tired, frustrated, and disillusioned with people. Sometimes, I jokingly say that I hate people. It’s only partly a joke. Isn’t there a saying about how we hate (or maybe it’s fear) what we don’t understand. I don’t understand intentional cruelty with a complete lack of remorse or empathy.

After that, it became harder for me to trust women and their motives when it seemed as if someone wanted a friendship. I’ve always been somewhat distant from people. This made it worse.

Despite that, I have been able to get close to a few women. Incredible, generous, intelligent, witty, strong women. I am fortunate to have them as friends. They love me with my battered soul. Just as I am. Because of them, I have been able to endure.

This year, I didn’t even realize that what was happening was another form of bullying. It might be that I didn’t want to know it. I was in denial because it wasn’t quite the same type of bullying. Did you know that some people bully by proxy? Yeah. I’ve been dealing with someone who has made quite the hobby of finding ways of causing trouble for me. It’s been a year of second-guessing myself, trying to stay one step ahead of this woman, and trying to hang on to my sanity.

The ironic thing? Most of my anger about this is directed at myself. For being a victim again. For trusting someone before I truly knew her character. I felt like a fool.

I’ve twisted myself into knots trying to change myself. 

You know what? No matter what I change, it will not change the fact this person is a bully.

I’m done being an emotional mess. Almost. Right now I can’t guarantee it because I’m still exhausted and sorely in need of a break. My emotions are raw, my temper is on a hair trigger, and I’m as likely to cry as to laugh at things. For the next week, I plan to keep my head down and continue with the survival thing. The upcoming time off should give me a chance to relax, rest, and work on healing a slashed soul.

Already, I’ve been doing some reevaluating. What belongs in my life? What is important to me? Who am I? All that stuff. I am hopeful that I can make some changes that I want to make. Things that will bring me back to a happier, more content space.

Hopefully I’ve finally learned something from all this. One thing I’ve tried to maintain is that all experiences offer a chance to learn. As long as it’s not learning how to be more bitter, angry, disillusioned, etc. I’d like the lesson to be how to rise above this sort of thing and not be dragged into the mud with people who choose to wallow.

2012 will be the year of the non-victim me. I am taking control again. This is my life and I will not be bullied anymore. I’m done with that. I refuse to participate. I will Occupy Me.

Thank you very much.

This hasn’t turned out like I planned.

Life is often that way. It’s seven weeks to a new year. That usually doesn’t mean much to me. But this year, it means putting a hard year to rest. It means hope for a better year in 2012. (Despite the upcoming elections which will make me want to ignore all news outlets.)

I wanted to focus on making my life better. Instead, I found myself caught up in the some of the same old stuff.

Yeah. I know. You can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results.

I’m trying to move this train onto a new track, but right now, lack the energy and motivation to do so. I keep telling myself if I can make it five more weeks, I get a break. Finally.

Until then, I’ll hang on best I can.

Five more weeks. Then I hit the reset button.

I’m barely functional today and was glad for an excuse to wear jeans. Anything more creative was completely out of the question.

Why?

Because I’m tired, disheartened, and discouraged. Not by my body. By people. Specifically by women.

We are often our own worst enemies. I jokingly sent a text to my husband yesterday that groups of women should be called “murders”, like crows. My general experience is a group of women get together, gossip and snark about other women, and bad things happen.

For a long time, I’ve been dealing with a murder. They are people who would likely never acknowledge their behavior is truly a form of subversive bullying. It takes a lot of strength and a grounded sense of self not to completely crumple under the weekly onslaught.

Yesterday, I drained my last reserves. Today, I’d rather have stayed home, hiding under the covers in bed, and forget all of this in a haze of sleep.

But, I couldn’t. I have responsibilities. And I have a stubborn streak that refuses to let them know that they drained me. The only way I can beat them is to refuse to play their game. That’s hard when my soul is screaming. When my spirit is weeping.

None of this is worth the cost. There are things in life worth fighting for. There are people worth caring about and hurting over.

This is not one of those things. These people are not the ones.

Today, I’ll dragged my wounded self along. I’m not the type who stays down long. I’ve not reached my absolute breaking point yet. But, I’m starting to fear for when that might happen. I’m afraid it will destroy me.

And again, this is not worth my destruction.

So, I put on jeans, make-up, a tired smile, and earrings. For now, that will have to be enough.

I’m doing the conference thing this week, so I’m wearing my “very professional outfit.” But I’ve worn some red shoes to show my personality. They rather match the new red streaks in my hair.