Existentialism makes you Cry.

I'm not an an introvert. I'm a maladjusted extrovert. I enjoy spending time with people. I like people and the things they have to say and I listen. But somewhere along the line, I forgot how to make friends.

I don't know if it was circumstance or age, but for some reason, I became acutely aware that I had to think carefully about what I did or said in order to make friends. This was something that never crossed my mind while I was in primary school.

I had friends. They just happened. Somehow.

Then it became hard. I had to smile a certain way, think a certain way, be a certain person to have friends. One wrong step was instantly unforgivable (or at least for the duration of my teen years). I struggled with my identity. I didn't who I was, or who I wanted to be. The only thing that was constant was the gnawing sense of emptiness and disappointment. That was when it became apparent to me that my feelings were not important in the scheme of things.

Nobody seemed to care that I was sad, or tried to find out why. Nobody tried to make me happy, or if they did, I never noticed it.

(The truth is that it's extremely tiring to deal with someone who's depressed. A lot of emotional support is needed and sometimes it's just easier to give them pat answers like "Things will get better" or "What do you have to be sad about?" It's hard to empathize and feel deeply for the person and think about what you would need if in the same situation. I do believe there are people out there who are naturally talented at this, but they're few and far between.)

All this served to reinforce the idea that happiness and friendship did not come naturally and you had to work for it. I have yet to be disabused of the belief that putting your happiness into someone else's hands is a recipe for heartache and disappointment.

My independence of today stems from my inability to talk about how I feel. Even when I meet someone who genuinely wants to hear about it, I can't express myself verbally. I withdraw or gloss over my feelings. I say "It's not important. It's okay. It doesn't matter."

And I try to make it not matter. Because I can't stop thinking that my feelings cause people discomfort. I make myself small.

Despite (or perhaps because of) how much I like people and being around people, emotional disappointment cripples me. Whenever I'm upset, I don't want to talk or even be with anyone. I disconnect emotionally.

In recent years though, I've managed to fake sociability enough to still be with friends when I'm unhappy. It helps, the pretense normalcy, since it treats the symptoms. Of course, since I never talk enough to solve the initial problem, I'm depressed again the next day. But it eases over time.

:: And that's all she wrote 11:26 AM [+] ::
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