I’m mad at myself because I keep messing up, even when I try. But don’t worry, this is a happy story. In the end. Mostly. (We’ll get there! I promise!)
Usually, I would tweet about something like this. An impulsive string of words as a means to attempt to connect. A passive toss of a “here’s a thing that’s careening around in my brain, and I feel I need a place for it.” If you notice it and want to engage with it, cool yay hooray, you can. If it’s not too annoying. I hope it’s not too annoying. Oh god this is annoying, isn’t it? I don’t want to make anyone angry.
But also sometimes, yes I do. Sometimes I’m really angry. Sometimes I’m really sad. Sometimes Twitter is the only way I feel comfortable trying to engage with people and things and thoughts and, yes, get that stupid rush of feeling validated when you say something funny or true and people like it. Sometimes it’s earnest, other times it’s meta. Often times it’s hard to tell between the two. All of it is ultimately self-deprecating, in the end. And only sometimes does it really make things better. “Your Twitter is an emotional reality show,” my therapist cuttingly observed.
I’m trying something different.
I’m realizing more and more every day that I’m trying to get things I need from the wrong people, places, and things, and I’m mad at myself for what a cliche I am and have always been. We’ve got the daddy issues, some mommy issues, some sibling issues, and some friend issues thanks to being the former geeky theater kid who was fat and bullied and loud and could be abrasively awkward but goofily clueless about it. There are tough moments I won’t rehash nor do I feel the need to spill (a first?), but they’re ultimately not the point or the problem. It’s how the things that I used to deal with and survive then, no longer serve me. Not only that, but they now actively hurt me, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, seemingly self-sabotaging sorta way.
Sometimes it’s hard to see that until you mess it up a lot. I’ve messed up a lot over the past few weeks. I’m pretty mad at myself about it. Don’t all humans hate feeling dumb and that they should know better?
Something I will bring up: I have PTSD. I’m trying not to be ashamed about it, which is why I bring it up. Mostly because I’m not like, a fucking war veteran or…
