it’s not always your fault, part 2

or, my mom called me a stalker

I went to see my doctor yesterday… again. The hospital was almost empty, but the staff were still there. Said everywhere that they’re not accepting patients atm. But I had come there with a specific goal in mind, and I wasn’t leaving until I had accomplished it. I needed to talk to him, and I didn’t care if it came across as stupid, reckless, or desperate. Truth be told, I probably am all of these things.

When he saw me, he reacted in much the same way he always does: hardly at all, with a hint of annoyance. He got impatient and tried to send me home, because of course he did, but I kept talking, kept apologizing.

… I guess I need him to like me — or at least to forgive me — after all…

At that point he interrupted me and assured me that everything was fine and I should really just go home.

I heard him say it, but I didn’t believe that it could possibly be true… it just didn’t register that he could have just forgiven me, forgotten the whole thing, and moved on with his life. (Even though logically of course I know he simply cannot take stuff personally at his job, or he would have gone insane long ago.)

I didn’t know how to react, so I decided to behave as if I’d believed him, and I just said, I guess I just tend to overthink people’s — he interrupted me again — May be so. But there’s nothing wrong with that, you know. Now go home already.

And it’s a good thing I was forced to get up and leave his office, because otherwise I would have just opened my mouth and stared at him in stunned silence.

Was that it all along? Was he just a doctor being all doctor-y, and I took his professionalism as a sign of hostility? I suppose that what I could have said instead was, I guess I just take everything personally because I need everything to always be about me. It would have amounted to pretty much the same thing: they both lead to misplaced guilt & excessive self-consciousness.

Realizing that he truly didn’t care was the greatest relief I had felt in months. That comes with its own set of problems, such as my obsessive need for his approval to feel okay with myself. At the moment he’s one more person I define myself by. But I can work on that in therapy.

But to have it pointed out to me just how much I read into everything was… something. When I left the hospital, I was like, Of course he doesn’t care, why would he?… but my brain works rather differently when left to its own devices.

Every neutral expression, every resting bitch face, every blank stare directed in the general area of where I’m standing, gets automatically interpreted as anger or annoyance. Never mind that more often than not a blank stare is nothing more than, well, a blank stare, but even if the person does happen to be annoyed at something or someone,

it really isn’t always your fault.

it’s not always your fault, part 1

10/28/2019

K made me cry today. Unintentionally, of course; she was going for the opposite.

She brought up in public something I’d said to her in private. It made everyone laugh, and I got defensive. When they left, I tried to explain my (over)reaction. That I know it’s not healthy but I need to be in control of who hears me say what, and that I don’t like other people relaying in my presence something I said to them before, because I have trouble communicating in the first place, and that only further distorts my intended message. And because it draws attention to me that I would never draw to myself by saying certain things in the company of more than two people.

She didn’t understand.

She said she saw nothing wrong with sharing with other people a neutral statement somebody else made, and it didn’t matter who shared it or what effect it had on those others. It didn’t occur to her that I make myself look stupid so often, I don’t need other people making me look stupid in front of additional witnesses. Nor did she take into account that “neutral” statements still say something about the person uttering them; not always something positive. (She claims to have social anxiety by the way. So I kind of expected her to sympathize? But our experiences of anxiety vary wildly.)

But that’s not what made me cry.

What made me cry was how she responded to my saying that I know it’s wrong and I don’t expect her to change, but just want her to understand my seemingly irrational behaviour.

And she said

that maybe I should stop seeing everything in terms of it being something wrong with me, and consider that maybe sometimes, it’s something wrong with other people; maybe it’s something wrong with her?

And I just started sobbing. Straight up bawling, because of how right she was. And I never thought of it that way. My feeling bad is always my fault, and I never even entertain the thought that somebody else might (also) be in the wrong.

I mean, obviously, in this particular case she wasn’t. But I’m pretty sure it was the first time I had ever stood up for myself and for my right to feelings, however irrational. It was an uncharacteristically confrontational behaviour on my part, broaching the subject as soon as I could and being (more or less) unapologetic about it. Putting my feelings first.

I always thought I was selfish. But maybe not in all the ways I could be.