perimeters and tangents

Long time readers of the old blog (all 3 of you) might remember my friend Lisa (The Girl Who Saved Christmas, and the first person I actually loved). We spent a lot of time together in high school and a couple of years after. Some people thought we were a couple, and I hoped our relationship would get there, but I never made it out of the friend zone. Regardless of that, she was a great friend who supported me emotionally, and I think she truly cared about me at the time.

However, maybe things aren’t the way I thought they were at the time.

Lisa posted on Fakebook recently that her father had passed. There were many comments and loving words, including from people who were my friends at the time. But it seemed like they had much more fond memories about their experience with her family, memories that I had no idea about. I was there at the time, but I don’t recall interacting with her dad enough to have great conversations or sing Christmas carols or have thoughtful conversations. I thought Lisa was my best friend at the time, and that was my friend circle, but where are my memories? I was there, but it seems like I was on the outside.

The same thing happened with my other not-quite-a-girlfriend Lena. I liked her a lot, and I think she cared about me too. We were really good friends, but we were never going to make it as a couple because of our clashing personalities. There was a time when our friend group decided that she wasn’t going to be included anymore, and I went along with it. But she returned to the friend group, and I never did.

It seems the world of Goldville didn’t revolve around me. Lisa made that clear multiple times, and our friend group never reached out to me to invite me back in. This was at the same time I was drifting socially, looking for new friends at college, and trying to build new relationships. It was at this time when my future wife contacted me and we started dating, which kept me from being lonely while my former friends did their thing without me. Then everything changed in 1991, and I put Goldville in the rear view, leaving everyone behind and burying the memories.

There is a pattern here. It seems like I have frequently been on the perimeter of a circle of friends, but not really part of the group. That has been repeated in different places and at different times, but the common thread is my inability to understand how to fit in socially. What is it about me that makes it so difficult to form healthy attachments with people? Why don’t I care enough to maintain relationships, or try to throw away the very few people who love me? Why do I choose to withdraw from everyone or disappear from other people’s lives?

Maybe this is all connected to feelings of being unlovable or unworthy of people’s attention. From the moment I started grade school, I felt like I didn’t deserve for people to like for who I am, and that when I was no longer useful I would be ignored. I have a pervasive fear of rejection and abandonment, and I am always watching out for signs that people don’t want me in their life. If someone has any criticism or problem with me, or if I imagine reasons why they would want to abandon me, I make up reasons to throw them away before they can hurt me. There is a whole list of people I have discarded even though I cared about them very much.

These feelings affect every relationship I have today. I’m pretty sure I have work friends who accept me but would quickly forget about me when I’m finished with them. I feel like I try to sabotage my relationship with my wife because I’m so focused on my own inner turbulence that I fail to understand her unresolved issues and how they might trigger my fears. I constantly try to read the context of my interactions with people, and usually come to the wrong conclusions. I fail to communicate honestly to people, and instead leave myself imaginary side doors so I can bail out on a relationship whenever I perceive the slightest hint of rejection.

It becomes so tiring. I often question if it’s worth the effort to have any social contact. Maybe I just go off on my own tangent and move to a cabin in the woods, as long as it has gas heating, a decent internet connection, and a cat.

lessons learned

My childhood experiences taught me lessons on the opposite ends of the self-esteem spectrum.

My A-mom would tell everyone I was the smartest kid in town, argue to school teachers and principals that I deserved special programs, or try to get me special privileges because I was her little genius. The problem was that I never felt like I deserved those things. I was embarrassed by her hovering and fawning, and I didn’t want her to try to get special favors for me.

She never taught me the confidence that I could handle things on my own, or gave me encouragement to take risks and learn to succeed. What I was taught is that I always needed a guardian angel, a tireless advocate for her vision of what she wanted me to be. She wanted to live vicariously through my accomplishments, but she never gave me a chance to accomplish anything on my own. I was her mama’s boy, her little man, her caged bird; she didn’t want me to fly but she might let me sing.

On one hand, I was the perfect child who could do no wrong; on the other I had Lila (the mean older woman my A-mom lived with) telling me I wasn’t worthy of anything special, and I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. She taught me that I didn’t deserve A-mom’s attention or blind praise. She told me that if I felt sad or tried to express my feelings, she would give me something to cry about. I was a goody-goody who didn’t deserve to be treated well, and I was goddamn lucky to have someone to put a roof over my head. I should be ashamed of myself.

Lila was bitter and cynical and damaged, but she taught me a few fears that have stayed with me. Be suspicious of people’s motives; people only want you there if you are useful; nobody really cares about your feelings; everything can be taken away in a moment; everyone is out to get you, and you have to get what you need on your own.

So my childhood experience left me with a crushing lack of self-esteem, fueled by the fears of loss, rejection, inadequacy, and humiliation. I was also left with a lot of anger, and I turned that anger into a desire to prove people wrong; I wanted to succeed to spite Lila, and I wanted to do it on my own to prove I didn’t need A-mom to pave the way for me. I didn’t feel loved, I felt more like a prized possession unworthy of love. I had the self-confidence that I was intelligent enough to succeed academically, but it was a shock when I realized I was socially inadequate, and that I was a joke to most people, reinforcing the lessons of mistrust and suspicion.

This all happened by the time I was 13, and it has shaped my entire life.