There is something I really like and appreciate about my fellow cohorts on this planet. It’s that people like to talk about themselves. I really do thoroughly enjoy that about humans. I love how easily entertained we are by our own dramedies. How quick we are to want to share them. I find it a very endearing attribute truthfully.
The only time I don’t like it is when it starts to go into the whining and/or victim mentality. But factual statements and self-analysis are always fun to listen to. It’s fun to see how a person interprets their own life.
In general, I have a hard time sharing my thoughts and feelings with people. I do sometimes, when it feels it’s naturally segued there and I feel compelled to. There have been a few people I talk to who we hit the same wavelength and I can jibber jabber with them very easily.
They tend to be people that are a bit “off the wall” like me. People who have had very extreme life experiences that have opened their eyes to things far beyond the “normal” ranges. People that have very kind hearts and open minds. Sometimes it’s just very smart people that are intrigued by me and when we find a commonality can bond easily over it. It happens. Just not that often really. Plus by nature I’m just an exceedingly quiet person. I enjoy the time I spend in my own head.
Wondering about things, sorting things out, listening, suppositioning, analyzing, or just watching things unfold before me. I don’t tend to find myself bored ever really this way. Guess I learned that skill young.
I remember once as a teenager I was deemed a flight risk by my grandparents so they locked me in my room for a week. It actually wasn’t that bad. I had a little radio and I would look out the window at the active street below. The only two times it bothered me, I vividly recall, where once when the street had its Farmers Market and I could see and smell all the fresh fruit and the fresh mango smell was so tantalizing. It was so close and yet could not have been farther away. The second time was when I realized I had to pee in a bucket (as I refused to poo in it).
I don’t recall the meals. I do remember being allowed to shower a couple times. The maid took pity on me and let me out and I then did actually run away. What choice was I given really?
I was a troubled teen. I can admit that. I was drinking and having sex. I wasn’t really doing drugs or anything illegal. I was just angry and being wild in general and uncontrollable. I wish I could say they understand why now a bit better, but my grandmother is dead, and my grandfather and aunt and uncle have disowned me for even daring to suggest my other uncle molested me. I don’t understand the blindness to it. I’m not asking for pity. I’m not asking for them to feel any guilt themselves for anything that transpired in the past. I’m not even asking for him to acknowledge it or suffer repercussions.
I’ve accepted the shit show of my past for what it was. Now I’m just trying to change the script. I’m trying to have the stability and safe harbor I was never given.
Well. This post started at one end and made its way to a whole new location. Didn’t it? Lol
Not sure what triggered all this. Without the constant texting to Brad I have a lot of time on my hands to think about things. I guess. 🤷🏽♀️