Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Inside the mind of a Chronic People Pleaser

I suffer from an overwhelming need for other people to be happy.  Especially when I'm with them.  I mean, I'm talking it's bordering on a condition.

And for whatever reason, if someone is unhappy, my brain will logically and conclusively find a way to make it be my fault that they aren't happy.  Even when I know for a fact that it's not my fault, it becomes my fault in the end, because of whatever circumstances my brain has decided on for this particular case.

Sometimes I can ignore it or at the very least let my brain work through it until it's no longer my fault again.

But what I'm trying to say, is that it affects me personally when people are unhappy with something, quite especially when I actually have had a direct impact on their happiness.

Which has lead to me being quite unhappy in the past because I can't fathom making someone unhappy, even at the cost of my own sanity.  We'll take the PC issue since that is the most recent (but this is a longstanding issue).

PC is a very nice guy -- even if I'm not interested in him as more than a friend I don't talk to that often.  He's had some unfortunate shit happen in his life that I feel bad about because he's a great guy and bad things shouldn't happen to good people.  And a lot of this bad stuff has made women treat him in a certain way because they're not attracted to him.  And I get that.  I do.  However, no one should ever want a pity date or girlfriend.  No matter how nice of a person this date/girlfriend might be.  And that's what I felt like.  I felt like I was only hanging out with him because he didn't feel good about himself, and I wanted him to feel good about himself.  But not because I liked him, because I felt bad for him.  And that's called pity no matter how you look at it.

But because of my weird happiness condition, I didn't want to make him unhappy, so I didn't say anything and didn't say anything and just kept avoiding the issue to keep him as happy as I was capable of for as long as I kept avoiding it.  Even if it made me angry, upset, annoyed, and quite frankly a little used.

And then I let it reach maximum capacity and I couldn't take it any more, and I vented on a public forum.  But I kept it anonymous, I didn't name names, I didn't say specific things, I was very nice about the whole damn thing and I kept apologizing because in my head it's my fault that I'm not attracted to him and he's attracted to me and I don't want to deal with it.  It's my fault and I feel bad about it.  Even if most normal people don't.  And it HURTS.  It hurts so much when I realize it's my fault that someone isn't happy with their life because of something I did or said or didn't do or didn't say.  And I know he's angry and that makes it worse.

And yet, I don't want to change what I've said.  I said what I needed to say.  I'm just going to feel guilty about it because it means someone else feels bad.  So I still end up being hurt and being unhappy, but now he does too.

And let me remind you this isn't the first time this has ever happened to me.  Because it's not.  This is what I live with in my brain all of the time.

My dear, dear, dear GL pointed it out offhandedly yesterday (or Monday) when I was hanging out with her.  I was helping her clean up, put dishes away or something like that, and I kept asking where things went, where she wanted them, how she wanted them put away -- because that's what I do.  I make sure people are happy and that things are done the way they want them to be, because I'm a people pleaser.  I want them to be happy.  And she looked at me and was like "you're doing something nice for me, I don't give a fuck."

And it's just...I just want them to not be frustrated with me, with how I've done something, with how I've handled something.  I don't want them to be disappointed, or to be upset or angry.  I just want them to be happy.  I want them to be pleased with me, and how I've done things.

And if it's legitimately on my side that someone is unhappy and hurt and upset or angry or any of those things, it really does hurt.  It makes me feel ill and uncomfortable and nauseas and worried and anxious and God help me if anyone's having an argument anywhere near me, because then it ramps up at least three times.

The hardest lesson I've ever tried to learn (still learning it in fact) is that I can't make everyone happy all of the time.  It's weird that this is the lesson that's hard to learn because I'm actually very accepting of this rule in relation to other people's actions affecting me.  It's fine that they can't always make me happy all of the time, I don't care.  But apparently in the opposite version I cannot stand not being able to make other people happy.

It's the strangest thing.  I'll get there eventually I imagine.

Once I stop telling people what I think they want to hear, and when I finally decide that my happiness is in no way connected to other peoples' and that I should just do what I can, and be done with it.

Hahahaha, I'm so funny, that's never going to happen.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Wednesday Realizations

I'd had one, and it was the original reason I was going to post, but I don't remember anymore.

My brakes are fixed, which is fantastic, and I tested them out going to see the lovely GL on Monday (which, quite honestly feels a lot longer ago than it actually was).  Tuesday I did fuck-all.  And has been long.  Not necessarily bad, but long.  I've been ready for it to be over since six, but I've still got about a half hour or so until I can attempt to go to bed and wake up at the ass-crack of dawn reasonably awake.

I love my waitressing job, please, don't misunderstand about it.  It's just very difficult to get myself motivated about something that I have to wake up so early for.  I'm unsurprisingly (surprisingly? idk) not a morning person.  But I can fake it for work.  But it's difficult.  Standing on your feet for 6 or 7 hours dealing with people who are neither awake or well fed and are terribly grumpy about it most of the time is rather unrewarding, especially if you're me.  The one thing I get out of it is that I'm getting paid.  But that's not the reason I'm nice.  I'm nice because I hate going to a restaurant where the waitstaff is surly, unfriendly, or just plain uninterested in my (as the customer) experience.  At least pretend for a little while.  Trust me, if I can do it, everyone else can.

What else?

I'm exhausted.  Just...exhausted.  I know what the problem is, theoretically, but I'm finding myself not rectifying it.  Not because I can't, I'm just...not.  Maybe I'll grab a burger or something on my way between jobs tomorrow.

Oh yeah, because it's not like I have a hard enough time recovering from one job when I'm finished, I agreed to go in tomorrow on a day where I usually (and have to this week.  important, pays my bills, etc.) already have a job.  And yes, while it's at my parents' house, working with my dad, and generally is pretty fun, it's creatively exhausting.  And that's just as wearing.

And I'm really hoping I can pull my shit together and not look pathetic and...

Whoa, okay, not going there right now.  I've been battling the evil monster of self-doubt and lack of confidence all day.  I'm not going to let it get me now.  Nope.  Not a chance.

Working on a story, and I've got the whole first chapter written up and a second one started and I'm already wanting to change the style, and there are parts that will need to be fixed in the outline and I don't want to have to do it, but I need to because I'm following the outline and it's bloody important and ugh.  At least I don't have anything due in any classes for another week or so.

Alright, gotta go update elsewhere...This really didn't go very far.

I still don't know why I started this...I know I had an original thought and that's where I was going but...poof...gone.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Friday, February 15, 2013

Ah, Friday..

I want to disclaim something from my last post I should have mentioned while writing it.  The only made-up phrase used to describe something from yesterday that I DID NOT CREATE was the term "land yacht."

I don't own it, I didn't create it -- in fact I'm pretty sure I stole it from Top Gear.

Oh, and you may be wondering why you're getting a blog post during my first class of the day on a Friday.  Yeah, that was cancelled.  Which works out for me (I guess?) because now I have a whole hour free until my next class.

Remember PC, the newest of my additions to my initial-alias deal?  Politically Correct (?)?  Him?  Yeah...I need to...need to say some things to him and this is going to have to do until I can...I can work up the nerve to say it to him personally.

So here it goes.  PC, you're a very sweet guy when you aren't unintentionally insulting me (I know you didn't mean it like that, but as a girl with low self esteem, it's hard to erase from my memory).  But you have a lot of baggage I can't handle, and I understand you like me and will probably defend how you interact with me by just trying to be my friend.  However, knowing that you like me a lot more than I will ever like you doesn't make it easy for me to accept the interaction.

No, wait, let me finish.  Please.

I've never had many friends.  I'm just not good at it.  I really am not.  I only get by with the few I have because I limit my interactions with them to what I deem appropriate based on our level of knowledge of one another.  NT and I, we have a very...ah, interesting relationship.  GL and I are as close as girls who aren't family can be without being lesbians.

And quite frankly, PC, I just don't know you that well.  And with the knowledge that you think I'm good enough to settle for as far as your feelings (Don't--just don't.) based on whatever poor self image YOU have, I just don't think I can handle trying to be your friend, even with as little interaction we have.

I'm just a nice person.  This doesn't mean I like you any more than I like the old lady sitting next to me right now.  I'm sorry if this classifies me (somehow?) as a bitch, or as just another girl who has "friendzoned" you.  But see, friendzoning is a tricky thing.  Because it is inherently a faulty statement.  I can't friendzone you.  You friendzone yourself by your attitude to the fact that I. Only. Want. To. Be. Friends.

Please understand this.  So, if you wouldn't mind just backing off.  Maybe completely entirely?  I can't handle the guilt I feel after getting annoyed seeing a notification from you or an attempt at contact from you.  Because I know you wouldn't look at me twice if you didn't think you had some sort of a chance at something because I'M A NICE PERSON.

I just...I just can't.  Okay?  And the worst part about all of this is that I shouldn't even feel any sort of guilt for writing this because you will completely disappear from my life for a month (no notifications on my things, no text messages) and then all at once you start immersing yourself in my business and I feel bombarded.  You need some moderation.  Or to spread it out.  Or just to back off.  Because I'm tired of dealing with this.  I'm sorry if you read this and know who you are and think I'm a coward or a bitch or any of those other nasty words you may want to use to describe me because I'm a person and I have feelings too.  But I waited this long because I was trying NOT to hurt YOUR feelings, and in the end, it sucked more for me and you didn't get anything out of it anyway.

Okay, Okay, I'm posting this before I lose my nerve and delete everything.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Thursday, February 14, 2013

The Chocapocalypse and Brokebrake Mountain

Otherwise titled "I'm Unstoppable...Literally."

Hi!  Happy Valentine's Day, hope you all had a good one.  If you couldn't tell by the title and sub/alternate titles, mine has been...eventful.

I go to my parent's house every Thursday and Friday to work for my Dad's company (I run the Facebook page.  You can find it if you look very closely at my page.  I'm not giving it, because I know who lurks on the interwebs, and that's dangerous).  We're home-based right now, as an online company.  It's going well.  I get there, I park, I bring in my family valentines because I'm a good daughter.  I greet my sister and we get to chatting (which always seems to take forever, because neither of us is willing to stop the conversation because it's so diverting from the things we really ought to be doing.  We're master procrastinators).  She lets the dogs out and back in, and the cat can't decide if she wants to come in or not, because the dogs are right at the door.  So I step out to try and pick her up and bring her inside.  As she is a cat, she runs off.  As I am an idiot, I chase after her because apparently in my head, if a cat runs away, it obviously wants to be loved (wtf brain?).  I take two steps out onto the deck and suddenly snap; my foot goes through a board.

So there's a foot-shaped hole in my parent's deck now.  This is just the beginning of the day, by the way, folks.

Work goes smoothly and there are little to no glitches thus far.  I have at this point learned that we are having dinner with my grandparents (the ones who live close by), and I decide, well hell, I'll drive myself and just head home afterwards, nbd!

On our way to the door, I grab all of my things, including a box of chocolate that my Dad got for me.  I'd already eaten three pieces, but there were more and I'll be honest, it's my favorite part of V-day.  I've got my coat on and I'm waiting for everyone else to get ready to go, when all of the sudden, I feel the box shift and slide on top of the things it was resting on in my hands.  I tried to grab it but the next thing I know, it's landed on its side, popped open, and ALL of the chocolate is on the floor.

Amidst giggles, reminders to brush it off when I go to eat it later, and desperate attempts to mesh the words "chocolate" and either "apocalypse" or "catastrophe" together, I had to pick up my pieces of chocolates from the floor.  It was very sad.

This is not the end of the tale, however.

Remember how I was going to drive myself to dinner with my parents, sister, and grandparents?  In my car?  My poor Aluminum Falcon (seriously, if you haven't seen that Robot Chicken episode yet, you are MISSING OUT on some great Star Wars references.  You're already on the internet.  Youtube is just a click away).

A number of weeks ago, I was traveling up (and down and back up and then back down) a mountain to visit my dear friend, GL.  This was probably three or so weeks ago.  I turn onto her driveway -- gravel -- and suddenly, as I'm slowing down, I hear this strange grinding sound in the back on the passenger side of the car.  Now, I've been in cars where the brakes were wearing down, and this didn't sound like that.  Naturally, as a girl who has somehow managed to avoid being taught how cars actually work (magic is apparently NOT the answer), I assumed that a piece of the gravel from the driveway had somehow been kicked into the braking system, especially when the sound persisted when I drove off.

I assumed it was gravel for three or so weeks.  The sound never actually stopped.  Sometimes it was worse than others.  Sometimes it was less.  But it never went away unless the car came to a complete stop or I had taken my foot off the brake completely.

My parents live on a not inconsiderable hill.  It's by no means a large hill, but it's deceptively steep.  You would only know it was as steep as it is if you'd ever run up it, or tried to drive up it in icy or snowy weather.  Or if you tried to stop at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill with a completely shot brake system.

Guess which one I got to contend with today.  I managed to stop the car enough to pass as a rolling stop at the bottom of the hill, but I knew there was something wrong with the brakes at that point.  I kept going (because I'm an idiot) because my parents were driving behind me, and I thought it would work itself out.

I make my second turn and I realize that it's dangerous at this point when I can barely slow down enough to make the turn without hitting the person waiting at that stop sign (yes, I live in an area with lots of stop signs.  We make due).  I pulled into a church parking lot and managed not to cry when I got out of the car as Mom and Dad pulled up next to me.  It was a close thing though.

Dad drove me back home while Mom and KW drove to meet my grandparents at the restaurant.  Dad then told me that my brake pressure was off, and I probably had a bit of a leak in my line, but that it wasn't safe to drive, really.

On our way home I got a phone call from work asking me if I had school tomorrow.  Which I do.  During peak hours.  They know this.  I know we're short handed, and that we're really busy, but the time they would need me would be right when I would need to leave.  It's a little pointless to call me in for that long, and they luckily realized that so I get to go to class tomorrow.  Yay?

We made it back home safely.  And then we checked the wheel I had heard the grinding sound from, and lo and behold, there was a small puddle of fluid by the tire.  Who'd have thunk?

So we take his car to dinner instead.  Dinner was uneventful, except that it was dinner with my grandparents and therefore shenanigans happened. (I believe at one point I said that "The Falcon is a hunk of junk but she'll get you from Point A to Point B.  She just might not stop at Point B." and KW said something along the lines of "Yeah Point A to Point B,C,D,E,F,G...")  But that's typical.  After dinner, we go to the auto parts store to pick up brake fluid so he can top it off enough to get to the mechanic tomorrow so that my brakes can be fixed and I can have my car back.

Oh if only it were that easy.  We got the brake fluid, and we even got home.  We popped the hood of my car and filled the reservoir.  Dad pumped the brakes and then he checked the tire again.

Apparently my car has lost the ability to hold its brake fluid.  So our mechanic might be making a house call tomorrow, if Dad can't patch it up to get it to the garage.

And now I'm driving Clifford, the boat of a mini van (I say this because the 'Falcon, junky though she may be, is a smaller car.  A minivan sure does seem a bit like a land yacht after driving a four door sedan around town).

I've decided that Technology hates me, and that there are many reasons to hate February 14th other than just being single.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers (dear God, I hope there's a next time *knocks on wood*)

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

So it's Wednesday

Haha, guess what I didn't do today while waiting between classes?

Yeah, I didn't do ANY school work.  Oh and I didn't write up a blog post either.

Sorry bout that.  You're still getting one today.  Dunno how entertaining it's going to be, but we'll work on it.

I've had a request to go back to referring to people in my blog that I know in real life by the letters.  You know, GL, NT, DM, etc.

I want to add a couple more.  It'll be fun.  If you recognize yourself (you oughtn't) but if you do, I mean no harm.  I'm expressing my feelings.  This is...this is the most effective way.  It's VERY unlikely I will tell you something to your face.  I'm not good enough with my words to properly communicate in person my thoughts and feelings.  I'm barely good enough to effectively do so on the internet with unlimited time to think things over and look up what words I want to know.

So that I'm not doing this to hurt you, this is just...this is just my way of expressing my thoughts and feelings and I'm not good with words, despite what others might say.

So yes...Let's start by going over who we already know who I might still talk about.

We all know GL.  She's my best friend, my confidante.  GL stands for Good Lady.  Well, I might need to find better words, because as awesome as that is...she's really a Great Lady.  Gorgeous, great, gifted, glorious.  I'm not good at relationships with people.  I'm actually pretty difficult to get on with.  She'll tell you otherwise, but it's true.  The fact that no one else bothered to stay around is kind of testament to that.

She has a boyfriend.  He'll be MHA for Most Humorous Antelope.  There are reasonings behind this.  Unimportant, but reasons.  GL will know.

Then we have NT.  I believe that was for Not Totally.  It's still relevant, I think.  Not for the reasonings previously expressed (though I'm unsure if they still stand).  But he's just not totally there with me...And it sucks so much.  Because you know what, I want him to be in my life, I want him to be a major part.  I want him to be one of my best friends because we have that potential.  It's there.  He's just...apparently not willing to cultivate it.  And that's fine except for when it isn't and I'm a big girl and I can...I can get over it.

Might still talk about DM, Douchebag to the Max.  Which really needs something new, because that's too bloody long.  Dumbass Master.  Dildo Muncher.  I'm going to get progressively worse, so I'll stop and we'll just keep it where it was.  He's weird.  And an asshole.  And quite honestly I can't seem to just get over it.  I'm starting to.  It's been a ridiculously long process.  I've even killed him off in a story to try and help.  Sometimes I reread it to remind myself that it's over, and he means nothing.  I haven't even seen him in two years (plus!).  He was a jerkface and I dislike him.  However, he was the first guy who I seriously could see myself being with long term, and therefore I will likely bring him up lots.  It's unfair and I'm trying not to, but I might not get rid of his moniker just yet.

I want to add my sister, KW for Kyootie Wootie because I'm just that obnoxious and she doesn't read this anyway.  But she's super adorbs and it's unfortunate she's got a K name because very few descriptors start with K.

I also want to add someone else.  PC.  Politically Correct.  And he's a bit more of a girl than I am.  I'll likely talk about him some.  I feel like he is the St. John to my Jane Eyre.  And it's really off putting.  I can easily see myself settling for him.  But quite honestly I don't want to settle.  I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, and I don't think he wants that.  I just...he's a good guy, he is, he's just not the right guy for me.  And that is hard to admit, because I'm a people pleaser, and above all I want everyone else to be happy with my choices, and at some point I'm just going to have to be "no, this is what I want, and I'm sorry it doesn't match with what you want." because if I keep stifling myself, I'm going to end up with a lot more death scenes on my hands.

Ugh, this is getting too introspective.

Going back: Who have we got, GL, MH, NT, DM, KW, and PC...I don't really talk about anyone else with consistency.

OOh, I almost forgot!  I haven't told you guys, my Bio lab is filled with really attractive men.  I mean, ridiculous amounts of attractive men for such a small class.  Guh, it's a shame I decided to sit in the front of the class because it makes it hard to eye-stalk.  At least three of them think I'm not repulsive.  I've caught a couple stares.  I haven't verified, but I plan to if I think about it next week.  I'm thinking the yawn thing.  If they're staring they'll yawn too.

Okay, I think that's it. If I sit here any longer and keep writing this thing, it's just going to get depressed and mopey and girly and gross, and quite honestly I'm not really digging that right now.

So I'll leave you here, dear readers.  I appreciate you reading.

Mr/s. Anon commenter, I appreciate you!  If you have an account, log in before you comment!

Until Next Time,

Friday, February 1, 2013


Okay, okay, so maybe the capitalization is a little over-done.

But it's kind of how I feel a LOT of the time.

Take Wednesday, for example.  Wednesdays, I spend about three hours in a room I like to refer to as "the glass box" at school.  It's quiet, usually, and I can just chillax in a comfy chair and not pay attention to anything.

Except if the guy sitting a partition away from me (a plexiglass partition, I must add.  very very see through with no actual door) decides to facetime with his girlfriend and they decide to have a conversation about her potential modeling career and her body-fat ratio that may or may not affect her womanly cycle and whether or not they can have kids, while he prepares a speech for his Public Speaking Class.  I've never been so over-informed in my life.  She mentioned her measurements.  I was sitting there in my chair staring at my computer screen going "Really?  Do you not realize this is a PUBLIC area with more than just one other person sitting there?  I am not the only person in this room other than your boyfriend, we can all hear you--" And then she started talking about her PERIOD.  I was mortified for both of them because there was none betwixt the twain.


On a different note, I'm going to rant because I have nothing better to do with my time.

Okay, not so different, kind of the same strain of thought, but it's more about not being listened to rather than not being noticed...

I write in a blog because then my thoughts, feelings, and my actual words are out, in a physical form, to be read, and properly quoted, by other people.  The fact that this is still really rare surprises and disappoints me.  I understand that no one can carry it around all the time and quote it word for word, I'm not saying that.  But...When you talk to me about what I've written, I need you to have actually read it.  I need you to pay attention to what I wrote, because I'm not just saying it for the hell of it.  I'm not.  If I've taken the time to write it out it means I wanted someone, somewhere, anywhere to read it and listen (listening isn't done with your ears, that's hearing.  different).  Listen to what I'm trying to get across.  This is my most effective means of communication.  I'm not good with words, I try really hard to be, but unless I'm either really nervous or really comfortable, I'm not going to say much.  Mostly because I don't think anyone will listen if I speak.  It's something that comes from being in large groups for a good portion of my time, and being spoken over regardless of whether or not what I was saying was relevant to the conversation.  And I try really hard to speak up, I do.  It's just not easy for me.  It takes a lot of effort, and I get very, very nervous and uncomfortable.  It's stage-fright, essentially, which is why I'm better at one-on-one conversation (unless, you know, I'm really attracted to you, in which case, I'll likely say very little because nerves.)  I'm this ridiculous mess of confusing anxiety reactions.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm writing because I want to be listened to.  This is the only way I fear I'll be heard a lot of times.  Because I'll literally start a sentence with someone and they'll respond not having listened to a word I've said.  I'm not really good with social cues either.  I'm really, really bad at it, actually.  And I do try.  But I just...I'm writing because I want you to read what I have to say, and then know what I mean because I've taken the time to use just the right words and actually put all of my thoughts down.  I'm taking all of the things in my head on whatever the subject of the blog post is about and putting them down for you guys for as long as I can keep the train of thought going.  And it sucks when I can tell that someone hasn't taken the time to actually pay attention.  It's happened more than once, and I'm too polite to say anything to their face about it.

But it almost physically hurts.  It's like a slap in the face.  It's like all my fears that circle around in my head about not being enough, not being interesting, not being important enough for my thoughts to matter come back and rush me.  They throw themselves at me and I'll swear I've been hit by a bus for a few seconds.

And then I have to deal with the doubt and depression that follow, and frankly I'm tired of that.  I'm tired of feeling like I don't matter enough to have my thoughts heard.  I'm tired of it, you guys.

I'm going to continue posting because I feel like these are thoughts that need to be read by someone -- anyone.  But if you haven't actually read the whole damn thing -- my entire blog, all of it -- if you don't know my whole life story by this point, don't talk to me about what I've written.  You'd be wasting my time.  You won't understand shit about me, and you'll have no right to comment about my thoughts that I took so damn long to put into words that barely quantify the feelings behind them just for you to read.

I'm not...I'm not an attention whore.  I just want to be noticed for once in my damn life, for something I think is important.  Something I think means something.  And if I have to wait the rest of my goddamn life for it, I'll be happy waiting, but unless you're going to take the time (it'll take way less time for you to read it than it did for me to write it I can promise you that), don't bother me.

I'm sorry, that got really pissy there at the end.  I'm just...I'm just sick and tired of being overlooked and spoken over and ignored.

I'm not taking it anymore.  I still won't say anything to your face, but by God, be prepared for an angry update if anyone decides to say something about a blog post to me that shows they completely missed the point and message I was trying to get across.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers