What the fuck was I going to say?
That’s a good way to start a post.
Sorry, let me try again. I need the perfect intro.
Hi. How are you all doing? I forgot what the fuck I was going to say.
Anyway, ignore me.
What kind of people do ya’ll like to hang around, if anyone at all? This was brought up in a conversation from today and it got me thinking.
If I were to have the perfect set of friends, how would they be?
I have had friends in the past (shocking) and they have matched me in weirdness and loudness, but that was only after I was comfortable around them and that took a good three or four years.
Sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s not.
But interests . . . not really. I’ve never met someone as interested in being inside of their head as I am, probably because people like me prefer not to be meeting other people.
Which is weird, given the fact that there are times I get lonely. But I don’t think it’s the type of lonely that requires me to be around people. It feels like the type of lonely that’s just sick of not being accepted.
That sounds so cheesy. Am I 12?
But it’s true. Even among the people who talk to me most often, I don’t feel accepted by. I feel they think it’s a bad thing or a weird thing that I’m quiet. I feel they think it’s weird I actually enjoy writing all day or watching YouTube all day for two weeks without ever leaving my house. I feel they think they’re better than me because they have jobs and make money (as if that makes a person who they are) and have nice brand new cars to drive around in.
I don’t crave attention. But I would like for one person to acknowledge the fact that I like my personality the way it is.
I like them for who they are. I’m proud they get as far as they do, I’m glad they enjoy the things they do. There are times I participate in what they want to do just to show support. But do I ever get that in return? No, I’m too weird. It’s not cool to talk about a book or philosophy or sit and imagine a whole new creative world in your head. That’s fucking creepy apparently.
I’m making strides in my anxiety so I can fit into the world, so I don’t end up on the streets starving but too nervous to ask for help. In my head I could give two shits if I had a job or money or friends or college credits or a house to live in. None of that makes me who I am. I have a crazy world in my head, why would I need anything else?
Obviously I’ve been homeless before, I know how much of a struggle it is, so I’m not going to not have a place to live.
Which means I’m going to need:
Which means I’m going to need a:
And if I don’t want to work remedial jobs for the rest of my life, I’m going to need to go to:
And if I’m going to have to go to college, I’m going to do it for something I enjoy, like psychology (which I am) . . . or physics . . . or Literature . . . but only one of them because this isn’t the Ancient Greek days when you could be a philosopher-physicist-poet-psychologist, e.t.c. in like three months.
Art and physics will always be a part of my life. It just won’t be my main profession.
But in order to do any of that, I have to pretend I’m like other people.
I have to pretend that I put a value on working and collaborating and being apart of things.
At least I’ll always know I’ll stand out from the group a little. That gives me hope. I don’t ever want to blend into the crowd. I’m claustrophobic.
I’m not claustrophobic. I just don’t want to be part of a crowd.
This is why the person who speaks for me, the person who interacts with that physical world often displays a very rigid, perfectionist, quiet personality and my real self is the one who writes these blogs and creates stories and enjoys herself at home in her room thinking all day.
I’ve tried to be my normal self around people and they can’t handle it. I say random shit. I think about random shit. I make weird jokes. I talk a lot of shit and emit some kind of care-free attitude they don’t seem to understand.
Shit like this:
When I say I like something, or want to do something, or laugh at something, I get told I’m weird. I laugh at it because there’s no need to get offended, even if people are having a laugh at my expense, but it just reminds me I’m not like them.
I’m a logical person, I like logic; I understand money and career and all that is important for survival. But that’s about it. Survival. None of it is why I enjoy life.
That’s why I made a choice between physics, literature, and psychology. In all three there’s an aspect of creativity and imagination you need. Sure, physics requires you know a lot of mathematics, but have you seen some of the conundrums quantum physics covers? You need a serious “think outside of the box” kind of brain to do that shit for your career.
I tried making friends in the physics center at my college. They all have a bunch of sticks up their ass, toting around their IQ on their shoulders like it’s a golden fucking phoenix. I couldn’t stand to be around them.
Plus the center was tiny as shit. Too many people.
Literature is synonymous with creative mind to me.
Psychology? There’s no textbook for it.
Yeah, yeah, DSM, shut up. There’s no textbook for it. When you’re in your office speaking with someone, their experience is going to be vastly different from the next person and you’re going to need to adapt quickly. That makes a good psychologist/psychiatrist. Saying the same thing over and over again and tossing out labels doesn’t sound Ph.D or M.D worthy. I could fucking do that–people on the internet are experts at it. The DSM isn’t going to tell you how to help them or what to say to help them make a revelation about themselves.
I love thinking. I love helping other people think.
I’m not saying I’m smart, and I’m not saying I’m dumb. I just like to think. Maybe some of my thoughts are stupid, maybe some of them are genius, I don’t really care. It’s literally the thought that counts to me. Literally.
People today let Google think for them. Maybe that’s why I’m hard to understand.
So what kind of perfect friend would I have? Maybe Google is a good one. Maybe that’s why I spend so much time on the internet. We’re a match made in Heaven.
Maybe that’s why I get these bouts of loneliness. I don’t crave attention, I just want to know there are people who appreciate different minds. I’m working on my anxiety and depression because I need it under control to pretend a little easier in real life.
The creative things in my brain that I get lost in that might seem psychologically abnormal? I’ll never touch them. I’ll leave them where they are. Who are they harming?
I don’t want to be “normal” or be forced to be happy at a job because I’m acting like everyone else. I want the ability to be who I am without being chastised for it.
I hope Google is a male. Ladies, I love you, but holly SHIT. What . . . what is girl talk? What is that? I’m a female and I don’t understand it. I prefer to hang out with men; I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I advocate for women and love empowering women but the ones around here are drama filled.
Maybe my MALE friend Google has some theories on it.
He has: “About 188,000,000 results (0.45 seconds)” on it, just in case you were wondering.