I <3 spiders. They are incredibly fascinating and sophisticated creatures. I used to be kind of arachnophobic until I had to ride into any number of occupied webs on my early morning paper run as a kid. The Encarta spider web animation also helped a lot I think ...very similar to this one.
Obviously I was destined to be an engineer.
And tangential.
So that's not exactly the point... I'm thinking along the lines of the truth, where it sits and how important it is. Today I gave two friends I care about completely different levels of honesty on related topics and it puzzled me, but we should wind back a bit first to get the full picture.
I am a liar. Just ask my dad. He has this cherished (irony) story of me as a 2 year old walking out with mum's lipstick all over my face: Him "Have you been into mum's makeup??" Me "No". LIAR. This is the refrain that is trotted out for the audience (for it is inevitably a performance of sorts) to prove my ingrained dishonest nature. But he's actually right, or at least partially. When I spin this yarn myself either for the purposes of gaining sympathy or a laugh, I usually omit the fact that he probably hasn't said it for a few years, and also that it is actually a handy device for me to gauge the sanity of my situation, so not entirely bad.
But truly, I am continuously dishonest. Most of us are I believe.
If you know a long term depressed person, especially if they are clever (using this term VERY loosely) they will have worked out the fastest way to lose friends is to tell them how you feel. I see it as a simple herd wellness evolutionary trait - how comfortable do you feel around a sick person? Sane people (without the years of training) are not supposed to understand insane people. Be grateful if you don't get it. I guess you could call me a less-than-clever clever-depressed person, although I am exceptionally good at concealing how I feel. Unless I don't give a shit. Those are the days I need to be locked in my room a la solitary.
So today. The topic was, from one friend who knows me really well in some ways and not at all in others - "you've met somebody haven't you, saucy minx" etc. If he'd known me for longer he'd know how ridiculous the question is. When somebody is egging you on like this, willing you to succeed, it is so utterly depressing to let them down.
Unwittingly I went from this relatively normal day (background hating self depression not intruding excessively) to despair, black hole utter failure as a human being especially as a woman and tearing up in the office helplessness. After hearing my story of failing to interest yet another man, he asks if I am unhappy, and my answer is evasive but not dishonest - no more than I was before. At the end of the conversation he notes I sound "a bit down" to which I say I'm fine. Flat out lie. But what else can you say?
My other friend is struggling with her own grief and asked when I had started to feel sad about my second to last foray into matters of the heart - whatever the fuck you would call falling for a figment of my own twisted imagination - and my honesty really surprised me. Before I knew it the truth was lurching forth drunkenly from my mind to my fingertips sans censorship
...from the second I knew.... downhill... got exponentially worse...can't trust affection from somebody who is involved......
and words I didn't really want to even see on the screen
................ when I first tried to end the friendship.... I think that weekend I was .....nearly psychopathic
What I wonder is why does she get the truth and not me? Because she needed it and that is a justifiable use of my emotions?
I seemed to have no idea that this was the truth until it was staring back at me. I had deceived myself. I felt nothing when I left Australia. Nothing. It wasn't gone. It was waiting. I tried to tell myself I had realised it wasn't worth it. It isn't. But I feel the knife twist of hurt and betrayal regardless.
I am not stupid. I don't envisage relationships that don't exist. Any one of my failures is just more guys to add to the pile of those that don't give a shit about me. So what is the point in trying?
How does an unattractive person become magically attractive without drastic surgery? Another gem of my inner dialogue escaped not once but twice recently when I revealed that my reaction to seeing people look at me is to first find a mirror to see what is on my face or wrong with my clothes. Finding nothing the only reasonable explanation is my nigh circus-freak hideousness. Really regret letting that one free. It sounds silly trying to explain it outside the confines my brain....
Today's not unusual but still utterly ridiculous rollercoaster of emotions left me walking home with barely restrained tears in my eyes and I'm so exhausted I've had enough. There is absolutely no point in thinking of or pursuing men (no I'm not turning to women). What can you ask for when you have nothing to offer? Who am I kidding? I give up.
And here is the real ridiculous truth - I probably wouldn't be sharing any of this if I thought somebody would read it. I just don't want to have a paper diary anymore haha. Some bullshit honesty I'm pimping.
M
