A Girl...

Another One of Those Days

I used to be a go-with-the-flow person. I was a glass-half-full optimist who was, by default, happier than the average person. If ever I got upset, you could be sure it was for a good reason and would last a good while--none of this wishy-washy conditional crap wherein I'm happy when something good happens and then two seconds later sad or mad when something bad happens and then two seconds later happy again, my emotional state depending entirely on external factors. It's not that I was detached from circumstance, but that my mood was stable and therefore independent of minor glitches in what I saw as my otherwise charmed existence. All of the major stuff (family, friends, romantic relationship, job) was just downright peachy, and that, I think, made it easier to roll with the punches and not sweat the small stuff when it arose.

But then, as you all know too well, everything changed.

My romatic relationship ended and I realized I didn't have any friends (fortunately, my family and my job still kick ass), and along with that crisis came a whole lot of other stuff (the sleeping all the time, the eating only cereal for entire days, the crying) that made me feel even worse. But I mostly haven't been too hard on myself about that and have chalked up the misery to the fact that I broke up with the man I had been with for six and a half years and knew I was going to marry since sometime around 1997 or 8. So, yes, a big portion of my depression--for lack of a more accurate word--was normal. I was grieving a loss. I was dealing with uncertainty for the first time in my life. I had every right to be upset.

So when I say that my emotional state resembles that of a thirteen-year-old, I'm not talking about just being sad that I don't have a boyfriend I can spend time with every day. I'm talking about how my mood is becoming increasingly dependent on external factors. I'm no longer content within myself but find that I need other people and activities and material distractions to make me feel good. If I'm hanging out with people--someone! anyone!--I feel like my old self: I'm happy, cracking jokes, dancing and singing, showing off, and acting like a goofball. But the minute I'm at home and it's just me and the cat, I am overwhelmed with emptiness. I can't tell you how many times I've picked up the phone and realized I have no one to call.

Have you seen the clip of the new movie Shall We Dance? in which Susan Sarandon explains why people get married? "We need a witness to our lives," she says. We need someone to validate our experiences and assure us that our lives will not go unnoticed. Now, my initial reaction to this is that we should not need someone to validate us but we should be little self-sustaining, self-contained worlds within ourselves--that whole "Don't look for someone to complete you, but strive to be a whole person first and then welcome another whole person into your life" thing. I used to be the poster child for that concept. But now that things have changed, I really miss having someone there to witness me. Look how cute the cat looks sleeping on my chest. What do you think of the spices I used in this new dish? Check out my new shoes. Guess what so-and-so said at work today?

I don't know if I've written about this here before, but my favorite example of this situation is the difference between going to a movie alone or going with a friend or a group. Ostensibly the focus is the movie, which is the same in any circumstance--same actors, same storyline, same soundtrack. Alone or in company, the movie is what it is and my reaction to it has little to do with who I saw it with. But even though the movie is the same, the experience is entirely different when I can share it with someone. With a friend, not only do I have someone to talk to and split a package of redvines with before the previews start, but I have someone to discuss the movie with afterward, and this exchange of ideas and feelings in turn helps give the experience meaning. For me, without a person to share even the insignificant moments of my day with, it's like I'm living in a vacuum. I have all of these feelings and reactions and ideas about what's going on around me, but with no one to share them with, it's like they never happened. It's not enough for me to just have an interesting thought--I need to tell someone about it. It's like I'm doing all of these things--going hiking, to concerts, to parties--but after they're over, they seem unimportant and disconnected from the bigger picture because I was essentially there alone. I know this is a personality quirk that not everyone has to deal with, but being bloggers, I'm sure most of you know at least a little about wanting to share your thoughts with the world.

Blogging is a good thing for me. I have a lot of fun composing pieces and even more fun reading about what other people are up to across the country and around the world. (And bless all of you who have even bothered to read this far!) But this shouldn't be the only place I can vent my frustrations and exclaim my joys. I still need to work on getting a "real" social life.

Which finally brings me to the point I originally wanted to make. Well, it's less of a point than just a structured whimper, but whatever.

I am alone this weekend. Teddy and Ethan left to campaign in Reno this morning with a carload of friends, all of them knowing full well I wanted to tag along because I said, "Hey guys, I want to tag along." But they up and left without me, not even addressing the fact that I wanted to go. And yesterday I overheard a bunch of people at work talking about getting together on Sunday, but no one invited me. Normally, I might have approached them and thrown out a casual, "So...is anyone doing anything fun this weekend?" but two things stopped me. One was that I was feeling horribly sick and I just didn't have the energy to play stupid mind games. The other reason was that I overheard someone say, "Did you invite Leah?" and then there was a bunch of whispering. WTF?! I know you guys have only my word to go on here, but I swear I am not a complete freak or super annoying or anything else that should make people want to avoid me. I am utterly perplexed at why I am so undesirable to everyone.

So I'm feeling more than a little insecure these days. I wouldn't go so far as to call it low self-esteem, but I have never felt so unsure of myself as I have lately. I think I need to keep myself busy. There are a lot of things I want to do, but I'm afraid that whatever I choose will just heighten that life-in-a-vacuum sense with no one there to share the experiences. I'd like to get back into studying Latin and French, but after eight hours editing at work, I just can't look at type on a page any more than I already do. I'd like to get back into dance classes, but I'm afraid to schedule anything during the evenings on the chance that I might actually get invited to something one night. I'd like to bring my dad's old guitar back to Berkeley with me after I go home from the holidays, but...Well, there are no buts for that one. I'll go ahead do that. It'll be fun, BUT it won't make everything all better.

Life was so much easier when I was two. I could sit at home and watch the rain and bring someone a bowl of chowder and spend one minute thinking about how going out for an activity--shopping, movie, museum, a long drive--would be gravy instead of spending an entire day trying to convince myself that there is meaning in the stuff that really counts.

I'm not completely demoralized. Not yet. It might takes years to turn this optimist into a pessimist. But that's what I'm worried about--that my life will be like this for years, and eventually I'll become a bitter, desperate single woman lugging around a mountain of emotional baggage that no man can lift. I liked myself the way I was, dammit. Why do things have to change?