The One Where I'm Socially Awkward Sometimes

I am feeling more awkward at this moment than any human being has a right to feel.

First of all, I have some. . .aspects of my personality that I have, previously, thought could be attributed to being autistic. Then I did some research (Thanks, hypochondriac-ism!) and found out that it's a thing that's diagnosed in childhood, and not in adulthood. I, admittedly, don't know a whole lot about it, and it is the furthest thing from my mind to insult anyone who actually has to deal with things of this nature, but, you know, you don't know unless you ask. Or, in my case, research.

I just find that a lot of things that happen to me in social situations are largely unexplainable, unless the explanation is that I'm just really, really awkward. I mentioned this to my mother a while back, and said something like, "Well, that's just because I'm socially awkward," and she's all, "Um, no you're not."

I feel like she has No Idea.

I guess the difference is that I am (sometimes) able to curb the awkward, pretending like I'm super-comfortable in social situations, when, in fact, I'd honestly rather be at home, by myself or with D, making Candy Sushi, which I will, in fact, be doing tonight. I guess if there were something, legitimately, physically (or mentally?) wrong with me, I wouldn't be able to fake it.

A lot of the symptoms (granted, they show up in kids, but I don't have anything else to go on), fit me. Stuff like autistic (children) may: (and I got all this from here)

* Be overly sensitive in sight, hearing, touch, smell, or taste;

* Have unusual distress when routines are changed;

* May not respond to eye contact;

* Prefer to spend time alone, rather than with others;

* May find normal noises painful;

* May withdraw from physical contact because it is overstimulating or overwhelming;

* Gets stuck on a single topic or task;

* Has a short attention span;

* And so on.

I don't know. Obviously, I don't have this particular issue, but it WOULD explain weird behaviors sometimes, and would further explain why, in social situations, I find myself just not sure what to do or responding inappropriately. And then you throw in my OCD, and I find myself feeling uncomfortably, intensely horrible when I realize I've done something in a non-social normy kind of way. It tortures me.

If I DID have autism, it might also explain being unapproachable, which D mentioned today. That wasn't the first time I've heard that, but I think of myself as pretty friendly, especially at work, and it just kind of sucks that other people don't see me the same way I see me. But I really don't have any excuse except being. . .unapproachable, and apparently, unfriendly. (I'll get to that in a minute.)

Reminds me of about. . .12 years ago, I guess, when my mom's neighbors had their granddaughter over for a few days. She was my age, and I was introduced to her, and she and I hung out while she was there. The last day of her trip, we were sitting on the front stoop, and she was like, "You know, when I first saw you, you didn't look very interesting or very much fun. But you are!"

A compliment, ultimately, sure. But damn. I don't look very interesting, I don't look like very much fun, I'm not approachable, I'm intimidating, I'm not very pretty (thanks, guy in my Sociology class), and as a child, I had ears the size of small satellites. (OK, no one ACTUALLY ever said that to me, but I have photographic evidence, yo!) I do actually have a few friends here and here, and D's not someone I made up, so obviously, people like me a little sometimes. It's just. . .hard to acknowledge that you come across as so completely different than you think you do.

All this being said, I'm finally getting to the reason I feel so awkward right now.

Three people at work are leaving/have left this week and next. This one guy who, I wasn't FRIENDS with, per se, but with whom I had a healthy rapport was heading out. He stopped at the door and turned back to say bye to me. He comes up to my window, shakes me hand, and says, "Take care, Sarah."

And what do I say?

Nothing.

I do not respond whatsoever.

I half-smile at him and shake his hand, but no words come out of my mouth. No, "It's been nice knowing you!" or "Good luck at your new job!"

Nothing.

I stupid half-smile at him and then he turns and walks away, probably thinking to himself, "Wow! How unfriendly and unapproachable is SHE? Plus, her freaking ears stick out halfway from her head!"

And so now I'm sitting here, agonizing about it. I'm probably never going to see this guy again, but somehow, that makes it WORSE. Because now, any time he thinks of his last day here, he's going to be like, "Wow. . .she didn't even say bye!"

(Note: I, in all of my common sense, know that he probably will never think of that exchange again as long as he lives, but tell that to my stupid, stupid BRAIN!)

So after stewing in that for a few minutes, I did what any person in my position would do.

I went to the breakroom and cut myself a slice of his farewell cake.

What did you expect, really?

The One With the Depressive State

I'm going to do the thing I hate doing and talk about unhappy, personal things. Not too personal, don't worry. . .I just read something that some people might find interesting. Take it for what you will. But the reason I was looking stuff like this up is because I was researching for my own knowledge.

I'm depressed. This is always a terrible statement to make, because people are like, "But you don't look sad!"

That's because I'm not sad. I'm depressed. There's a very important difference. Sad is generally caused by some underlying factor. Your boyfriend broke up with you. You had a fight with your best friend. You work for the government. Things like that. Depression is just this rampant, underlying THING that doesn't really have a source. It's just there, mocking you.

I'm depressed in a way that I don't actually really understand. It is not caused by, but is in fact amplified by, my rampant OCD. What happens is, I get sad or angry or frustrated or whatever by something. Let's say my dog dies. (I don't have a dog, so karma won't get mad at me for my use of an invisible dog and kill it in real life). My dog dies, and it makes me sad. Since I'm kind of depressed anyway, the dog's death amplifies it and it gets more to the point of an actual person dying. Then I start thinking about the dog, and how I could have done things differently while it was alive. (This is the "O" part of OCD.) I could have come home 10 minutes earlier from being out with my friends to play with it before I went to bed. I could have spent 3 more dollars on dog food and maybe it would have lived longer.

Things like this.

I think about, obsess about, things like this until I'm pretty well convinced that, oh my God, I killed my dog. And then that starts a whole new thing. It causes panic attacks, and I get to a point where I can't breathe. I start hyperventilating. And it can be nothing but downhill from there.

I also have really, really terrible self-destructive tendencies. The type that let someone get just close enough to you, but when Shit Starts To Get Real, you pull away, and then you just leave everything and everyone you love in a wake of destruction.

Y'all are all beginning to see what a peach I am, aren't you?

At least I know this stuff about myself. My therapist (yeah. . .I started therapy because I feel like my brain isn't functioning properly) said she's glad that I am so "self-aware." What that means, I guess, is that I still do really stupid, effed up stuff, but I know I'm doing it. I'm not sure. . .why that's good. But it is, apparently.

The point of this entire thing is that D and I had a fight this morning, and I did the stupid thing I do and said the Worst Possible Thing I could have said during said fight. I, a lot of times, say things before thinking about them, and they are, in fact, the Worst Possible Thing I could say. But what's even worse than that is when I START to say something awful, realize it when the sentence is halfway out of my mouth, and proceed to finish what I was saying anyway.

It's like, everything in me is screaming, "ABORT! ABORT!!!! YOU ARE AN EFFING IDIOT!!!" by my mouth is like, "La la la. . .what fights can I start today? This is fun!"

So that's what happened. My mouth took over and now D may or may not be speaking to me. My bad. (Update: He is speaking to me. Maybe he'll even like me again later today.)

Point of all THAT is, I know that the issues that I have have in the past and are currently taking a bit of a toll on my relationship with D. I'm a little crazy, sometimes he doesn't know how to deal with it. . .things like that. So I Googled "relationships and depression" and came up an article that was kind of awesome. The Web site doesn't say not to reproduce it, so I'll give you the link, the article name ("Depression and Relationships: Living With a Depressed Person") and the author (Bob Murray, Ph.D) so they don't sue me. I'm not going to copy the whole thing, but just things that I feel like maybe I should talk to D about. I think they might help, and they might help someone you know, too. It irritates me that the author refers to the depressed person as "he" through this entire thing, but whatever:

Understand the disorder. Take time to find out what depression is and is not. So many popular misunderstandings about the illness and so much denial about its origins exist.

Keep in mind that he can't “snap out of it.” Remember that the other person has a real illness. Like someone with cancer, they can't simply “get over it.” Try not to express your frustration or anger in ways you'll regret, but don't suppress your own feelings either. You can say for example, “I know that you can't help feeling down, but I feel frustrated.”

If the person is an unrelenting pessimist, as so many people with depression are, try to point out the positive things that are happening. His negative childhood programming--the “inner saboteur”--will probably prevent him from seeing these for himself. The depressive illness has a vested interest in the lie that nothing will go right.

Admit your own powerlessness against the disorder. Many people believe they can cure someone they love just by the sheer force of their love, as if that feeling alone should be enough to effect permanent change. It isn't.

The first stage to avoiding guilt over someone else's depression is to acknowledge that you are not responsible for it. It's not your fault, and you alone can't cure it. You can offer support, you can show friendship or love, whichever is appropriate, but you are probably too close to be able to solve the problem. Step back, admit that you alone are powerless against the disorder. Seek support for yourself from friends and perhaps a psychotherapist. The first stage toward helping the other person is to get help for yourself.

Do not try to rescue. A person suffering from a mood disorder will probably be a slave to his depressive program. The disorder will infantilize him, and he may well put pressure on you to fix whatever he perceives to be the problem. Sometimes the program can be temporarily assuaged in this way and the depression will lift. But it will come back and the inner saboteur will make even more demands. You may be forced into trying to play the role of omnipotent parent and feel guilty when you fail to provide what is demanded of you.

Encourage him to seek help. Many sufferers from depression deny that they have the disorder or try to self-medicate with alcohol (as my mother did) or overwork or shopping--all of which are depressives in the long run. Part of your self-preservation is getting the depressed person in your life to seek professional help. This is true whether you live or work with him.

Discover your own programming. It's important to realize that the other person's depression is playing a role in your inner saboteur's game. In clinical terms you may be getting a “secondary gain” from his disorder. His behavior may seem to give you an excuse to vent angry feelings, or an opportunity for you to play the knight in shining armor or perhaps a reason to excuse your own real or imagined shortcomings. If you find yourself having relationships with a number of people who are depressed, there's probably a reason in your own past. Seek help in dealing with those emotions and fears.

Tell him what you need. The depressed person in your life may be ill, but you still have needs of him. All relationships are based on the mutual meeting of needs.

If you aren't honest about what you're getting from the relationship, or what you want to get, you will make the other person feel even worse about himself. . .Be honest about what you can and cannot do, and about what you will and won't do. Never promise what you can't fulfill. You may often be asked to.

On the other hand, going through the process of exchanging real, functional needs with the depressed person can be a very powerful healing tool for both of you.

I think those are pretty good talking points. And they make sense.

So I'm going to go back to obsessing over whether I committed a relationship-ending faux pas this morning, and hoping not.

I don't really talk a lot about my actually "feelings" about my relationship, do I? I dislike feelings, which is unfortunate, because I feel so many of them so often.

But I love this guy. And I don't want my effed up brain to mess that up. So I'm working on it. I'm working on it and fighting my self-destructive tendencies. Because I'm supposed to be Mrs. D this year, and that is a thing that is going to happen. Period. Misfiring brain synapses by damned.

The One Where My Brain is On Backwards and I Can't Stay On Topic

I swear, I'm going to finish some of the posts I've started, but for some reason, I'm just like. . .they aren't shiny and new to me anymore. They were awesome when I started them, but then I started to bore myself. And when you start to bore yourself, you're in trouble. Big Trouble.

Also of note, I went from 12 subscribers to 11. That made me. . .a lot more sad than it probably should have. I don't know who it was that dropped me, or what I did to offend them so. It was like (before I stopped caring) when I lost facebook "friends." I was like. . .wow. What have I done that is SO BAD that people don't want to be facebook friends with me anymore?

And then, of course, I started weeding out my facebook friends list, went from almost 600 friends to just under 335, and I continue to weed it occasionally. These people shouldn't necessarily take it personally. . .I just don't really care that much to keep up with them.

I'm a little all over the place today, and I actually wouldn't even be here (writing, I mean), had I not read a post by the lovely Aunt Becky about why she writes. Aunt Becky is one of those bloggers that I wish I knew in real life. She's awesome and crass and heartfelt (can one BE heartfelt, or do people just SAY heartfelt things?), and I'm not even exaggerating when I say that she sometimes may even make me feel better about myself. Call me lame, call me whatever. . .that's the way it is.

I have a book club meeting tonight. I can't remember if I mentioned the book I read, but it's "Still Alice," and it's about this 50-year-old woman with early-onset Alzheimer's. This book broke my heart, and I'm excited to talk to other people who read it, to see what they thought.

Of course, reading this book gave me yet another thing to worry that I have. I'm a hypochondriac of the worst kind, and I'm also horribly, horribly absentminded. So, in my mind, of course, Absentmindedness = Alzheimer's.

Some time, I'll have to tell you about the time I thought I had simultaneous cancer and liver failure, thanks to the blue ice cream.

I'll share this with you here: I've decided that my OCD is taking over my brain to such a large extent that I am actually therapist shopping right now. I'm not. . .terribly ashamed about it, but the problem that I have is actually, I know how drugs to tone down the problem can mess with you, and I've taken those, and I do not like them. I don't like how they make me feel, and I don't like how they make me think.

That may sound kind of weird, me not liking the way brain drugs alter my brain, but what I mean is, if I'm on something like that, I'm. . .less interesting. It's kind of like putting an artist on Ritalin. They just can't do the same things when they're not a little crazy. This concerns me. I battle enough with thinking I'm boring. But then again, during a screaming match I may or may not have had yesterday, I was accused of being "paranoid and delusional," so if that is, in fact, true, maybe my brain NEEDS to be altered.

I don't really know. I don't know why I feel the need to share this either, but there it is. So if I get really boring and my subscribers list drops from 11 to 8, and then from 8 to 3, and then, one day, I only have 1 left. . .that's probably why.

Since I can't seem to keep a straight train of thought, I'll leave you with a conversation I had with D after lunch. His car is in the shop currently, so he comes to get me for lunch.

Another thing you need to understand is that my parents (my mom and SDad) are gross. Like. . .in a nauseating kind of way. In the kind of way that my mother always has flowers at her desk that he bought her, and that there are little notes around their house that say things like, "I dove my Tschugah!" or "I miss my Tschugah!" (Um. . .Tschugah is kind of a bastardization of "Sugar," and that is what my parents call each other. They do not refer to each other by name. Ever.) (Also, dove = love. This is important later.)

So, we're pulling into the parking lot, and I don't even know what prompted this (it could have been the fact that my SDad was in the parking lot, waiting for my mother), but this is what happened:

D: I dove wu!

Me: Oh my God. OH MY GOD. Never again. Never. Again. We are not longer talking. OK, you can come and pick me up at 5, but I'm not speaking to you on the ride home.

D: But. . .I DOVE wu!

Me: AAARRRGGGHHHH!!! NO!

Probably, it was funnier in person. But it made D laugh.

The One Where The List Touches a Nerve

Here's the list I'm trying to complete. It is going to take me 9 years.

I saw this next item on the list a couple days ago and thought, "Oh boy. This one's going to be fun." Note: This is exactly how it appears on the list. The misspellings and gross usage of acronyms is NOT MINE. And I apologize in advance for getting ranty.

Day 12 - something your OCD about

Well, there are two things in the question itself. For one, I CAN! NOT! STAND! when people don't know the proper usage of different forms of words.

Your = Something that belongs to you

You're = A contraction. A combination of "You" and "Are"

Yore = Times that have passed by long ago

Example: Quincy, if you're not going to quit talking about your yore, I'm going to punch you in your face. (I threw in an extra one for you. You're welcome.)

It's the exact same thing with the different forms of "they're."

Their = Something that belongs to them

They're = A contraction. A combination of "They" and "Are"

There = Where something is

Example: Look over there! They're kicking their dogs. You're going to call your uncle, the sheriff, aren't you? (It's a 2-for-1!)

The last one is "its" versus "it's."

Its = something belonging to something

It's = A contraction. A combination of "it" and either "is" or "has"

Example: It's a shame that the kicked dog had its leg broken.

Maybe it's because I was an English major, but I don't think this stuff is that hard. It doesn't really matter to me whether or not you grasp the concept of it (because they all sound the same when you use them verbally), but when you write something down, or you have a misspelling on a sign out front of your store, or whatever, I judge you. You should understand the basic rules of grammar before publishing anything.

(Note: Not to say I've never had a typo, accidentally typed the wrong version of one of these words. . .but I know the difference. It's a mistake, not ignorance.)

The second thing that's wrong with that question is actually something that bothers me so much it makes me angry, and for some effed up reason, people think it's really funny to make me angry by using this.

I've made reference here before regarding my rampant OCD. It's not a fun thing to live with. It's especially difficult when people think that needing to be organized = OCD. I've ranted about this before, so I won't do it again, but that bugs me.

However, saying something like, "I'm being SO OCD about this!" Doesn't. Make. Any. SENSE. It's another sign of English Language Ignorance. (ELI?) If you stretch out the acronym to what it actually means, what you're saying when you say that is "I'm being so Obsessive Compulsive Disorder about this!" OCD is not an adjective. It is a noun.

As part of the aforementioned OCD, I can't stand (CAN NOT STAND) butchering of English like this. It makes me angry and frustrated and I don't know what to do with myself. On my list of things like this people do that make me inexplicably angry are:

1. Using "OCD" as an adjective.

2. Saying "machine" after "ATM" or "number" after "PIN." (What you're basically saying when you do that is "Automated Teller Machine Machine" or "Personal Identification Number Number." It does not make sense.

and

3. Adding -oholic or -aholic to things (shopaholic, chocoholic, workaholic, etc.) That doesn't make sense, either. If you're addicted to alcohol, you're an alcoholic. "-ohol" is part of the word "alcohol." You're not addicted to workahol or chocohol. You're addicted to work and chocolate.

So, in conclusion, the "thing I am OCD about" is misuse of the English language, and when people just don't get how words, word endings, and acronyms are supposed to work.

I realize this one went a little bitchy, but I can't even tell you how much these things bother me. I don't know what the next item on the list is, but I really hope it puts me in a better mood than this one did.

The One Where OCD is Not the Same as Being Organized

(After reading this, I was like. . .Dude. Not nearly as light as you like to keep your entries. But I'm going to leave it anyway. I'll be back to normal by next time. I'm also quitting with the song lyric titles; they're exhausting. I think I'm going to take the Friends [TV show] approach to titles, and just tell you which one it is.)

I have started this entry 3 times, and keep deleting what I write. I think it's a Thursday thing. Either that, or the fact that I had a absolute OCD breakdown last night, and I don't think I've fully recovered from it.

Here, it should be noted that I legitimately have an OCD diagnosis. It's an actual thing that they medicated me for, but the medication made me feel like such crap, I stopped taking it. I felt like I would rather have minor problems all the time and major problems occasionally than feel like crap always.

It drives me up a wall and down another wall when people are like, "Oh, yeah, I totally have OCD! I can't stand it when my shoes are out of order! And if something's out of place? I just can't stand it. OH EM GEE, I've got the OH SEE DEE!"

No.

That's called being anal retentive. Big difference.

It's kind of like those girls in college (you know the ones) that make out with each other at frat parties so the boys can watch, and then on their MySpace page (because people like this still use their MySpace pages for trolling), proudly proclaim their bisexuality. But the fact of the matter is, the only time they think about women is when they're making out with them so heterosexual dudes will get turned on and then they can take one of the aforementioned dudes back to their dorm room with them, get wasted on a couple of Miller Lites, hook up, and then the next day get on their MySpace page and write, "OMG, I'm totes a bi-grrl because I have a boyfriend AND a girlfriend!"

These people drive me crazy. And that's how I feel when anal retentive people translate their quirks into being obsessive-compulsive.

Along the same vein, a lot of people don't understand that OCD doesn't necessarily mean that the person washes their hands 500 times a day, or that they can't go to sleep until they switch a lightswitch 17 times. For some people, yeah, that's the case. But that's the extreme case. What it comes down to is that it's an anxiety thing.

This is a really good synopsis of what it's like. It's. . .horrible. I won't go into last night's work at the library, but a lot of things just felt like they were spiraling out of control, and by the time it was time to leave, I had to sit in my car for a while before starting out to try to regroup. Then I called D and yelled for like 10 minutes, just because I didn't know what else to do.

I don't know why I felt the need to share all of this, but there it is. Needing things in order doesn't necessarily mean you have OCD. It's more of a feeling of not being able to control your own brain, and the obsessive thoughts in it.