So, if you've read this blog much, or if you know me (while I still find it strange that people who I don't know read this nonsense, I'm pretty certain I don't know a hundred-odd people who use RSS readers, and I know that it's inflicted upon some poor unfortunates via aggregator), you will know that I am convinced that I'm fat and ugly.
Well, about that.
You see, when I was in secondary school, I never really talked to anyone. More or less literally. I didn't have anything in common with the people around me, and was quite frightened of them; I was bullied more or less continually. If there is ever some sort of reunion thing, I am not bloody going. Fucking bastards... Looking back on it, I've no idea how I kept going, and it's possibly a miracle that I'm not even more warped and twisted.
Anyway, the point is that the first time I ever really felt it necessary to be able to operate in a social situation was when I came out. This was before I went to college, and I, possibly unexpectedly, found the whole social thing completely unmanageable. I had not, after all, really actually had any friends since I was about five. So, I was encountering all these happy, outgoing gay people about my age, and it was completely alien territory for me. I had no idea how to cope.
Now, at the time, I was still fat. Really, I was. I weighed roughly 150% of what I weigh today, and fit into the obese category. And, well, I think I may have used it as an excuse to myself. I can't get on with these people because I'm really fat. I mean, why would they want to talk to a fat person?
In the period between fifth and sixth year, then, I lost a huge amount of weight; I went from 90kg to 60kg. Of course, this didn't actually solve my problem. Why, then, could I not get on with these people? Well, I must be ugly, I suppose.
The next year, I started college. Things improved, to an extent; for the first time, I was actually able to talk to people, a bit. At the time, I was on SSRI anti-depressants. I know that it is popular to say that these are horribly over-prescribed, and don't work, but I can tell you with a reasonable degree of confidence that I would not be here today without them. Granted, the effects are pretty awful; they made me feel stupid, and I'm pretty certain they made me very lazy. Often, I just couldn't do anything for days or weeks on end. I did come off them of my own accord at one point; in those couple of months I felt so horrendously bad that I started again.
By late second year, things had definitely improved. I was off the anti-depressants, and I was beginning to manage socially. I was, under certain circumstances, even able to get along with reasonable-sized groups of people. I was still, mind you, convinced that my problems stemmed from a (possibly imagined) fatness and ugliness, and I was horrendously jealous of the carefree, happy people, especially the gay ones, who could get guys. But I was certainly doing a lot better. I went to social events, and even spoke at USI (that pointless waste of colleges' time and money) conferences, and the like. People started to invite me to parties and things; at the time that seemed totally amazing.
Third year involved even more change. I actually began to make friends, which was a bit of a first. I no longer really felt left out of what was going on. I verged on being happy. During third and fourth year, I worried far less about how I was doing socially. On the other hand, I started to feel really, really bad about my inability to be attractive to other guys. Obviously, I had something to blame; the whole fat and ugly thing never really went away, and the ugly bit, in particular, was pretty insoluble. And so it went on. I managed to become quite socially functional in small groups of people I knew quite well. I was still terrified at parties, and I was certainly still unable to cope with the whole guy thing.
At the end of fourth year, then, I finished college. I have to admit I was absolutely terrified of this. In fact, I spent most of fourth year worrying about it. It wasn't that I was really worrying about getting a proper job, or anything, more that I was worried about how I'd be able to cope socially outside college. Fortunately, I don't really seem to have had much of an issue with this; I'm getting on at least as well as I did in my final years of college. Still, at the time it seemed like the end of the world.
That actually brings us more or less up to last week. Last week was when I finally managed to get it through my head that I was being a bit silly. First, the fat thing. Objectively, I am towards the lower end of normal as far as weight goes. Then, the ugly thing. It's not something that I can judge sensibly, but I am not actually horribly disfigured or anything. I've come to realise that to a large extent I was using these "I'm defective, but the defect is impossible to remedy, so pity me" things to avoid thinking about my real problem.
My real problem, of course, is that I have serious issues functioning socially. I have gotten to the point that I am able to get along well with many people that I know, and I can even talk to new people, sometimes, if I already know most of the people present. I still can't really function in groups of people who I don't know, or large parties regardless of whether I know the people present or not. I manage to be, I'm told, quite interesting in the former, but I shut down entirely in the latter. I'm sure most people, on first meeting me, think I'm boring, stupid, and/or rude. I am also, of course, totally unable to talk to people I find attractive, and I suspect that I put people off for this reason. Then, I have serious issues dealing with complete strangers. I put off making phone calls, and that sort of thing, and shops and so on terrify me. That's why I tend to alternate between about three sets of clothes, by the way.
So, while I obviously still have an issue, at least I am no longer fooling myself about what that issue is. It's something that I can work on. I feel terrible about making such a mess of my life thus far, especially college, which I suspect I could have done a lot better at and enjoyed more if I wasn't so messed up. I'm very, very annoyed with myself. I also feel terrible about how I lied, both to myself and to others, about what was wrong with me, and how I, to an extent, sought pity from others over what I thought was an insoluble problem.
In summary, I'm sorry. If you know me, you've probably heard more than you can stand about my various issues, and I apologise for going on about them, especially when they weren't even the right issues. Even if you've read this blog, you've probably been bored to tears by my constant moaning.
I will try to do better in future, and at least act neurotically. With what I now know, I can try to make a fresh start. Who knows, I eventually may even have a boyfriend! Stranger things have happened, albeit not often.
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