disowning your last syllable
September 7, 2005 – 8:36 PMMy excuse? “It's the meds. This isn't the real me.”
But I do. I know almost everybody at work. And that's hundreds of people. It's mostly because I've trained half of them, and the other half I can't account for. But I don't have any problems talking to people. And that's just not me. Or at least, that's not the me I grew up with. I'm pushing 30, and suddenly the world is different. The people I train tell me I'm a good teacher. They tell me I'm patient, that I'm personable, that I really help them.
Contrast this with years of being told that I'm impatient, that I'm bossy, that I talk over peoples' heads…
But I'm off the subject. I blamed my social activity on the meds. It's not the real answer. My friend commented, “But that means I've been talking to the meds all this time!” And that bothered me. I don't think I'm a different person at all. But I do think my general anxiety over other people's perceptions of me, my sense of self-boundaries, etc., all have improved drastically. It's alien. It's foreign.
I laugh. I make other people laugh. I wave at people. I bust their chops. People from across the building come and summon me for help because they know me. I watch this from a third person perspective, and I don't recognize myself, but I feel comfortable with it. This is how I am now. This is not how I was before. And I was not happy back then.
My mother and Keith, my own two personal self-barometers, say it's better like this. They say it's easier. It's easier for them. It's easier for me.
What's the downside? Is this me? Am I getting shortchanged? Do I need to pick a name for this alternate personality? Do I accept that this is me, what I would have been like all these years with the benefit of proper seratonin levels, with the benefit of functional relationships, with the benefit of love and support?
Ten years ago, dawnstar, I would have been the quiet girl everybody considered weird, and Bo or Beau would never have sparred back and forth with me. The managers would not all know my name. What's the nature of personality? Of self? Is it as simple as chemical levels? A change of scenery? Some years of experience behind me? Knowing I'm surrounded by people who love me, who I love dearly, and who watch my back? Not living in an environment where I feel haunted and trapped? I don't know. It's probably all of the above in varying measurements.
I'm thankful to have made it to 29. I'm thankful that I've got a 4.0. I'm thankful for my friends. I'm thankful that I'm almost 30 and I'm a size 8 and cute and guys look at me. I've never had that before in my life, ever. And if I did, I never had the fun-loving confidence before to smile back.
It seems a little too good. There's a flipside to it somewhere. But I can't afford to care about that right now. I love Rochester. I love people. I love school. And I love feeling alive. I hate my allergies. But there's Claritin for that.
Is this me? Keith? Chad? Anybody? What happened to me? Do you ever miss me, even just a little bit? Do you think somebody who's gotten to know me just within the past few months knows me, or just an artificially bubbly version of me? I'm really curious as to what this has been like outside of my skin.