The Discomfort Of My Own Skin

In the past I have always been able to find a certain level of being comfortable in my own skin. The last couple of years, however, it so often feels like I am wearing skin too tight to fit over my bones, like it is someone else’s skin. It’s very uncomfortable and disconcerting. On certain points, I know exactly who I am. I like to wear black. I love Halloween. I love heavy metal. I dig skulls and graveyards and horror movies. I have zero problem that my ‘social life’ has always seemed to revolve around the new TV season from September til May. This is who I have always been, it is not artifact of depression or low self esteem or some need to be negative and bizarre. I was reading Fangoria when I was 7 years old long before there were any whispers about mental illness or personality disorders. The things the professionals and society on a whole decide are part of my depression and negative attitude are in fact the things that actually make me feel…less miserable. Sometimes they even bring me pure joy when the mental demons aren’t dancing the cha cha in my brain.

Last night I had an epic moment of being pathetic in regards to my workaholic narcissist friend, and once again, I allowed him to put me in a corner, feeling like the bad guy when in fact, no one is the bad guy, it’s just a bummer issue. But rather than him letting it be a bummer or have any inkling of understanding my position, he just put it all off on me and stopped texting. All because I missed his call the other night. Anyone who says 56 year old men can’t behave like bratty children is a moron. And I rationalize constantly for those around me, taking into account their upbringing, the kinds of people who were their family influence, and I can understand how they turn out cold or tough love-nasty or self absorbed or lacking in self awareness. You know, the luxuries no one has ever afforded me for my issues, let alone the chemical imbalance that wreaks havoc over every aspect of my life. But ya know, this need to see the good in people and rationalize when the outcome is always the same-their behavior leading me to feel like an overly needy irrational emotional succubus…

It is indeed me. Not necessarily at fault for my behavior and reactions, because no one can tell you that your feelings are right or wrong, they are just how you feel. But my expectations for others to respond, like, well, emotionally available adults with some semblance of conscience…I am setting them up to fail because I know…even if I have done all the therapy and work on myself and become a better version of me…Trying to reshape them into something I can cope with is wrong. Yet I keep doing it and licking my wounds when their same shit, different day behavior remains the same. Part of why I self isolate, I guess. It’s like I feel too much, too deeply, and others around me…are much more level, simpler, scientific, I suppose. And it works for them. I’m the one always alone, never really part of anything, never really bonded to anyone. I’d like to flip a switch and become some emotional simpleton but part of being comfortable in your own skin…

Is accepting yourself as is, flaws and all, even when these so called flaws mean you can never quite mesh with other people.

Wow, did not see that rant coming.

So let’s just go with the last two days.

Yesterday I avoided housework but I did drag out the Christmas tree and decorated the front porch so my kid would be appeased.

Not gonna make any magazine covers but I kinda like the whole eclectic ‘whore it up’ vibe of mismatched and willy nilly color bulbs.

Thie morning I blew off the alarm and phone and…went back to sleep. So went my plan to get her to the pancake with santa deal early enough to miss the crowd. But I did get her there.

On the way back, she told me, “My friend and I had fun, you’re always such a downer.”

Wow, that stung. I mean, I don’t do Miss Mary Sunshine, like, ever, without manic episodes, but I didn’t think I was that bad at hiding my inner struggle. I act silly sometimes and try to make her life and smile at her. But you know when the depression permeates your very bone marrow…I guess I am just stuck being Debbie Downer with a sprinkle of Happy Fun Ball from time to time. I feel like I am letting her down, but then…she is such an upbeat, social kid, I don’t think Mary Poppins could please her as being cheerful enough.

We have another event at 4 today. It is gonna be packed, but it is necessary. Least she will have snacks and activities and some semblance of a holiday spirit since I am such a downer. After that, she is going to spend the night at her grandma’s. Which will put me having to drive after dark and getting home around 8, at which point all this socialization will have me zapped and drained so I will accomplish nothing, probably not even enjoying some teen angsty Vampire Diaries. Sigh. Adulting is hard, I need the escape.

I got my water bill today and it was higher than expected so that cuts my gift budget for her to $21. That is pretty pathetic but I don’t have any options. Hopefully 19 dollar items wrapped seperately will give the illusion of her getting a good Christmas. I was counting on my mom and sis going overboard as usual but sis and her husband were in a big fight last night cos they literally can’t buy any gifts til the day after Christmas. But knowing that family faction, one of them will get shit on credit or go get a payday loan. It’s not supposed to be about the gifts, everyone says, but if you think about it…didn’t those Bible people bring incense and such at the baby Jesus birth? So maybe it’s not really about 2019 consumerism overboard spending gifts, but…it kind of is about some sort of gifting thing.

At this point, I’d be cool with the incense sticks. They have a baby powder scent that I love and several cool burners but the store that sold them…doesn’t sell them anymore.

Spook is at my dad’s right now, playing with their neighbor boy. Gotta leave in an hour, we are giving my brother a ride to work, which leaves us in town meandering for 2 and half hours til our event.

It is unfair of me to think a ten year old capable but one day…I truly hope Spook realizes I was more than just a downer of a mom who didn’t much enjoy Christmas or have friends or money. I hope one day she understands that since her donor walked out 8 years ago, everything I have done and continue to do has been for her wellfare. She is my life. One more reason I don’t do the dating thing. When grown men say, “Let’s get together when you’re not busy doing the mom thing” or send you dick pics an hour after getting your number…Those are not the people I want around my child. Call me snobby or picky, but growing up with parents who can’t stand each other is just as bad as growing up with one parent absent. I’m going on 47 and my divorced for 20 years parents are still doing the tug of war thing with our emotions and loyalties and all the put downs toward each other. I want to set a better example for Spook, even if it’s just proving being single doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something wrong with you or that you have to be lonely and unhappy. I have little doubt one day I will burst out of whatever ‘wrong skin’ I am wearing and I will attempt to date or find true love or at least a booty call…

I’m just not there yet, even though it kills me that people think I am alone 8 years now because the donor ‘broke’ me. I was broken long before him, but that’s the thing about broken stuff. It can usually be mended and repaired. He may have left dents in my armor but he did not break me. If anything, he proved to me how wrong I was to just keep getting into these convenient relationships just so I was ‘normal’ by not being alone and towing the ‘you must have a partner to be whole and normal’. He also helped me see some of the destructive things I do in relationships that contribute to their demise. I LEARNED something from the experience, which counts for something. I am just so very sorry Spook has to pay for it by having an uncaring absentee sperm donor society wants call a dad. A dad–or mom- is someone who sticks around. It’s a title you earn, not just giving due to biology.

Okay, one hour to go before entering the petri dish in town. I just want this day over with. So I can turn around and do it all again next weekend. Fucking hellidays.

The one thing that would make them more bearable is if I had a family that served wine with dinner. Oh, and if we had an Uber company to drive me back safely to Armpit. But, nooo, I get a mom from a family of drunks so she thinks even one sip of booze means you’re a drunk. Bah humbug.

Or in my current mental state, BLAH HUMBUG. Cos it all seems so blah and dim and just dismal. I don’t know what is sadder than not even being able to spend $7 on the slime your kid really, really, wants for Christmas. Oh, her saying it was my choice to live here in Armpit, that was a pretty low blow. I never wanted to live here. But it was 2 weeks to get out and either be homeless or live here so I did what I had to do for her.

One day maybe I will get the gift of gratitude from her for all the hard decisions I’ve had to make out of love for her. Including living in this hellish farmland of unfriendliness. I was informed last night that the nasty neighbor across the street no longer likes me and it’s all because some stray dog climbed into her car when the door was open. Not our dog, not our fault, and Spook was trying to wrangle him up yet she now hates me…

This is what I mean about the intellectual and emotional quotient of those around me. You can’t reason with that level of…lunacy.

And ya know, call me old fashioned, but if someone has a problem with me, I’d much prefer they tell it to my face rather than me having to hear it from my dad who heard it from ten other people.

Small town midwest, backstabbing and gossip mongering at its finest.

Second thought, maybe I am okay not being an emotional simpleton. If I have to use their backwards logic to be accepted, I think I will just stay in my crypt and be a downer.

Unless someone wants to send me a case of Red Velvet St. James wine. Then I’d be a happy downer in my crypt.

Blah humbug.

3 Responses to “The Discomfort Of My Own Skin”

  1. I can help. I can send 10 dollars for slime. So spook will have that. Leave it with me. Its on its way! xxx

  2. I am emailing you right now. It’s gonna be ok hun 😀😀😀

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