bloody marty mix
101/365: 1982-1983
Thursday, 04 September 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 15: 1982-1983
Toward the end of my freshman year of high school, I got involved with somebody I can't believe I ever hooked up with. It's embarrassing to me now, just thinking about it. He was wrong for me in all kinds of ways. He was a dull, slow-witted, burnout. Perhaps that sounds cruel and judgmental, but it was also true, and he might be the first person to tell you so. We were so horribly mismatched that I kept our relationship a secret from everyone I knew. I think part of what made me so embarrassed by it, even as it was going on, is that love had absolutely nothing to do with it. I don't think we even liked each other. It was pure teenage hormonal lust, with a generous sprinkling of emotional issues. After just a few weeks of flirtation and hints, we had sex out in the woods in his van. It was my first time. I don't think it was his, but I didn't ask. Afterwards, I felt strangely blank. I thought it was going to be this great experience, but to be truthful, it sucked. It was devoid of any passion or pleasure. After it was over, there was just this guy I didn't like, in a van (a fucking van, for God's sake!) in the woods. I had him take me home, and that was the end of that relationship.
At the time, I didn't expend much energy regretting the episode. I felt I was old enough to make those decisions, even if I didn't always make them correctly. I didn't come to regret it until a couple years later, when I actually fell in love for the first time, and realized how much nicer it would have been to have shared that with him. Looking back on it now, I find regret to be a more complicated issue. I think I was too young; I was still buying troll dolls and unicorn stickers. But, I was also forced to be mature beyond my years, both by the developing situation at home, and by events from my earlier childhood. I also think the experience of making that mistake has helped me be far more empathetic toward people who make similar mistakes. I know how easy it is to end up in that metaphorical van in the woods, wondering what the hell you're doing there.
Who am I?
I am one of the boys.
In high school, I had girlfriends because they were the same people with whom I'd attended elementary school. They were real friends, but they were also default friends. I probably would not have befriended them had we met in high school, because by that time, I was collecting boys. I'd adopted a one-of-the-boys strategy for getting attention, and it was working like gangbusters. It was attention I absolutely craved, and I got it by telling the dirtiest jokes, making the craziest faces, and saying the most outrageous things... although I was careful to tone it down around my more innocent girlfriends.
This is a pattern that has never stopped. What started out as a conscious strategy, has become an inextricable part of my method for interacting with the world, with troublesome results. With few exceptions, I have not made new female friends since I was 10. Interacting with other women is an intensely frightening experience for me, because I am often afraid I'm going to say or do something that will offend or shock them. When the men in the room outnumber the women, I am immediately more at ease. I know how to deal with men. I speak their language. I also know how to charm them into getting what I want. It's not a skill I'm proud of.
Unsurprisingly, I've spent a lot of time on this in my many years of therapy. It's not something I like about myself, but after 25 years of being this way, I'm not sure how to be any other way. I end up feeling completely paralyzed in social situations, because, while I can refrain from flirting and telling tales of ribaldry, I can't figure out how to talk to people in a more natural way. And so I sit in the corner, having become this mousy wallflower that I don't recognize.
It's not all bad, though. Being one of the boys did introduce me to football, and football is good.
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101/365: 1982-1983
Thursday, 04 September 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 15: 1982-1983
Toward the end of my freshman year of high school, I got involved with somebody I can't believe I ever hooked up with. It's embarrassing to me now, just thinking about it. He was wrong for me in all kinds of ways. He was a dull, slow-witted, burnout. Perhaps that sounds cruel and judgmental, but it was also true, and he might be the first person to tell you so. We were so horribly mismatched that I kept our relationship a secret from everyone I knew. I think part of what made me so embarrassed by it, even as it was going on, is that love had absolutely nothing to do with it. I don't think we even liked each other. It was pure teenage hormonal lust, with a generous sprinkling of emotional issues. After just a few weeks of flirtation and hints, we had sex out in the woods in his van. It was my first time. I don't think it was his, but I didn't ask. Afterwards, I felt strangely blank. I thought it was going to be this great experience, but to be truthful, it sucked. It was devoid of any passion or pleasure. After it was over, there was just this guy I didn't like, in a van (a fucking van, for God's sake!) in the woods. I had him take me home, and that was the end of that relationship.
At the time, I didn't expend much energy regretting the episode. I felt I was old enough to make those decisions, even if I didn't always make them correctly. I didn't come to regret it until a couple years later, when I actually fell in love for the first time, and realized how much nicer it would have been to have shared that with him. Looking back on it now, I find regret to be a more complicated issue. I think I was too young; I was still buying troll dolls and unicorn stickers. But, I was also forced to be mature beyond my years, both by the developing situation at home, and by events from my earlier childhood. I also think the experience of making that mistake has helped me be far more empathetic toward people who make similar mistakes. I know how easy it is to end up in that metaphorical van in the woods, wondering what the hell you're doing there.
Who am I?
I am one of the boys.
In high school, I had girlfriends because they were the same people with whom I'd attended elementary school. They were real friends, but they were also default friends. I probably would not have befriended them had we met in high school, because by that time, I was collecting boys. I'd adopted a one-of-the-boys strategy for getting attention, and it was working like gangbusters. It was attention I absolutely craved, and I got it by telling the dirtiest jokes, making the craziest faces, and saying the most outrageous things... although I was careful to tone it down around my more innocent girlfriends.
This is a pattern that has never stopped. What started out as a conscious strategy, has become an inextricable part of my method for interacting with the world, with troublesome results. With few exceptions, I have not made new female friends since I was 10. Interacting with other women is an intensely frightening experience for me, because I am often afraid I'm going to say or do something that will offend or shock them. When the men in the room outnumber the women, I am immediately more at ease. I know how to deal with men. I speak their language. I also know how to charm them into getting what I want. It's not a skill I'm proud of.
Unsurprisingly, I've spent a lot of time on this in my many years of therapy. It's not something I like about myself, but after 25 years of being this way, I'm not sure how to be any other way. I end up feeling completely paralyzed in social situations, because, while I can refrain from flirting and telling tales of ribaldry, I can't figure out how to talk to people in a more natural way. And so I sit in the corner, having become this mousy wallflower that I don't recognize.
It's not all bad, though. Being one of the boys did introduce me to football, and football is good.
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