The American Caliban (substitute) wrote,
The American Caliban
substitute

  • Music:

look into the pewter pot

bruisedhips and godforesaken's wedding was just as nice as I'd expected. Jackie is a great hostess and the group, which consisted of relatives + library geeks + the coffeehouse crew, was just fine. Plus, cake. Best moment for me was in the middle of the vows when Owen (age 3) decided to be a tyrannosaurus and roar happily at his mom and her new husband. Plus, Peppermint patties. It was cool to meet Hils' parents finally. I had a nice long chat with Ryan's uncle (I think) and Jackie about Native pottery from New Mexico, which I knew nothing about. It was a great pleasure seeing Kenn and Brian and a load of other people I never see. And happy people. I like seeing happy people.

I wasn't done afterwards and went to Ruba. Chris R. was holding court at a table of people I half knew. He and I can't occupy the same space. I used to think I didn't like him, but I realize that it's just chemistry of some kind. Maybe we're just the same kind of dog and shouldn't try to occupy the same kennel. It was an interesting realization; I thought he was a jerk, but it's at least half me, and probably more.

I should have left. Friends of mine showed up but were in a space where I didn't belong. I didn't know how to handle it. I was reminded of how difficult it is for me to be left out. If I can't include myself in the group I'm in, I immediately begin writing a story in which no one wants me around and I should stop pretending that I have friends, move away, live in an SRO hotel in downtown Los Angeles, shoot heroin, etc. I'm highly sensitive to situations where people don't especially want me in their conversation, or don't want me to get close to them. I can seriously leap from "maybe this discussion doesn't really include me" to "these people are embarrassed to know me and wish I would go away and never come back and never really saw me as anything but tolerable in certain situations".

It blows that I can't accurately assess this kind of social situation and that these tiny variations in communication give me anxiety attacks. Also that I'm mysteriously drawn to demand closeness from people who can't or won't provide it, thereby providing endless raw material for spirals of self-hatred and anxiety. There are enough people I've been attracted to — sexually or otherwise — who are just walls of ice to me, that I've come to accept that as the norm. Party on!

I remember years ago, I was talking to a woman I know who was having a shitty time about something or other, and I gave her a friendly squeeze of the "feel better, you're cool" kind. And she leaned on me a bit, tilted her head onto mine, and her hand rested on my chest for a moment, fingers curled slightly. It was an "almost" moment, a near connection physically. And not since. Something's just haywire here.

I have one more chance to get clear of this shit enough to live a life worth living. If this doesn't work, the list of possible "Plan Z" options is unappetizing to say the least.
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