Why the hell do I get messages like this? OFTEN.
While it maybe very well have been intended as a compliment, let’s dissect how I feel about this:
While I am largely ‘let’s do this’ about life, I am also largely “let’s do this’ about punctuation. Learn it.
Furthermore, being ‘always up’ and ‘Let’s do this’ don’t always go hand in hand. While there are points in my life that these two attributes show up in tandem, there are also points in my life where I’m very ‘let’s do this’ about being angry, depressed, or frustrated. But I’m working on it.
Countless times on dating websites, I’ve had people assume that they know me from just a few words or paragraphs. These people see me as fun-loving, or weird, or prudish, or someone whose personality automatically means ‘sure thing, one night stand.’ While some or none of these may be true, that doesn’t change the perception.
Which is a hell of a thing, always somehow skewed in my life.
I have people that I have known for YEARS assume that I’m a complete moron because of some or all of these: I am eccentric; I love corny jokes; I do not push my religion, intelligence, or opinions on others; I despise debates and arguments, so they assume I’m a pushover.
But guess what. I am one smart cracker. Oh, how I’d love to tell the former friend of mine who always attempted to insult my intelligence (and my bank account, and my home decor…) that she would walk into ONE DAY at any of the jobs I’ve held since college and cry at the difficulty/intricacy.
This is the same ff who used to boast about making “$45,000.” A: while that is an honest living and not too shabby, it doesn’t make you a millionaire, B: people who regularly discuss their salary with others are clearly lacking in some aspect of their lives, C: you’re not making that $45,000 now, seeing as you have no job, yes?
The same ff who, now that she is in school for interior design, remarked that she wanted to “Come redo” my house. Excuse me? You live in a house with wildly colored walls that gives off a distinct “a twelve-year old designed this” air, while my home has actual cohesion in its decor, however off-putting my penchant for displaying skulls, preserved insects, and the like may be.
And she is just one example.
Most people do not know that I have had bouts of crippling depression, during which I can’t do much more than shake my hands, cry, and sleep.
I attribute my survival to Jesus (yes, I’m serious) in tandem with modern medicine and a doctor who understands whole person treatment.
Thankfully, the past 2 years of my life have gotten exponentially better, with medication that actually works, a perspective that is a little bit clearer, and, since November 2012, a job that I enjoy immensely. Same company, different department, different management, different WORLD. I have realized who I really am, but I still maintain that horrid curse of never really being sure of myself around people, no matter how “confident” I may seem.
While I still get easily irritated at the ignorance of others (blame it on keen observational skills and a bit of road rage), I am learning to tone it down while avoiding the brain-busting internalizing that left former me with migraines, stress headaches, and a clenched jaw.
Example: I volunteer once a month at a food pantry in my city. I have had people mumble under their breath at me for the entirety of their check-in, snap at me because I ask if they have a stove (it’s required so you’ll get the right amount of food, dumbass), yell at me and tell me I “was cute until [I] put all that mess” in my hair, snap at me about address verification, and so on. While the former me would have cried, yelled back, or gone silent, I addressed these issues in what I believe to be a fitting manner:
The mumbler, I ignored, citing that her constant blather could very well be a result of mental illness.
The stove-snapper: I calmly informed that some people DO have an address and no stove.
The hair yeller: I VERY calmly (probably eerily so) replied, “Well, that wasn’t very nice now, was it? I don’t really appreciate that.” He proceeded to grovel. Repeatedly.
The address yeller: I simply stopped and looked at her, waiting for her to make eye contact. She, of course, didn’t, so I inquired if there was a problem. “No, ma’am.”
I wish I could go back and tell the former me all of this. But as I was telling my mother just this week, everything I have done, been through, and all the people I’ve met, have gotten me to where I am now.
That shitty job out of college, other shitty jobs with employers who broke labor laws to have me on call, the shitty department of managers who are both nazi-like and lackadaisical, all those have led me to a job where I use my English degree, my experience in the CRO world, and my knack for computers.