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How’s about this: I don’t date anybody, because literally every single person I’ve dated asked me to sacrifice a part of myself I have since lost and not been able to recover, and that is horse shit. Whenever somebody says “relationships are about sacrifice” I want to slap the shit out of that person for being so stupid. No, relationships that fucking blow are about sacrifice; relationships that rock feature two people who work surprisingly, and increasingly, well together, like a well-oiled machine or some other apt cliche. The two people get along well enough where there is absolutely zero fucking need to ask the other person to do something they don’t want to do.
Instead, all my relationships have had me bending over backward trying to accommodate these girls, and I’m sick of it. I am sick of shaping myself to women and their lofty expectations when I myself have my own set of expectations and standards, which I live by, which I have had some degree of success using, so I’m not just going to cut out that part of myself. If you want to be with me, but need me to change, then you don’t really want to be with me at all. I need to find someone who loves me for me and doesn’t mind that I talk myself up, because they fully understand the problems extending from my childhood, and they would work on being that person who IS there for me to say “good job” and “congratulations.”
Instead, immediately, I am judged and shamed for it — though she did add the little tongue-out smiley face! So all is well, guys! Hooray!
I don’t want to date anymore. I thought I did but now I don’t. I am going to save my money and surround myself with friends that have my back and do not care if I’m not sucking their dicks or constantly asking them to talk about themselves. I am going to go to bars when I finally have money and find the girls there that want to have fun and hang out, not the ones who are prudes in wedding white dresses that critique your every damn word. I’m a writer. It is my whole life. Therefore, having to think about every single word I type, like, really fucking think about it in the sense that I don’t want to “offend” or bother or annoy or upset a potential suitor — that shit wrecks my life. All I do is write, so now all I will be doing is thinking, which is going to stilt the shit out of my work. Not fucking worth the trouble. Especially when my mind is already keeping me awake every night due to racing thoughts.
The few people who like me like me for me, and that is fine. My conversations are about more than the vapid elements of life, and it strikes deeper. I care about the opinions and feelings of those close to me, so I like hearing them talk about themselves. I like getting to know people, and, gee, how the fuck do you get to know somebody unless they let you in on who they are? Am I supposed to fucking guess what a person is like on the outside, or should I be waiting for a letter in the mail, addressed to me, detailing that person’s inner-most thoughts and concerns and beliefs?
Empathy, motherfucker, do you know it?
I am working at a school now, and I am excited to work with children, and you know why? Because I empathize with them. Because I was a kid once myself, and I want to make learning and getting an education fun and invigorating for them. That’s what I want, and I know that because I am talking about myself, that is a BAD thing. But, because of “what I want,” I will be the best damn person for this job, and I won’t break down, and I will accomplish what I am setting out to accomplish. I will not fail, and if my having the confidence of an iron god intimidates people, or makes them judge me? Too. Fucking. Bad. I would rather be told I am egotistical and arrogant while knowing how good I am (at a select few things) than not be criticized at all while not knowing what the fuck to do.
I’m talking out my ass here, but I am RAGIN’ cajun, so just ignore it. Nothing bugs me more than when people doubt me or put me in a corner. Say I can’t do something or, worse, tell me I don’t know something, or they question me on a fact or figure I know is correct in my heart and soul and my brain, too, hopefully. Just, fuck, my brain is like an autistic sponge, it picks shit up Katamari-style without my knowledge or willingness, so maybe pick up a damn book on autism or spectrum and learn what/who you’re dealing with.
I’m not fluffing myself up when I say that. I am speaking in fact. I have autism, fact. Autistics with Asperger’s tend to have photographic memories, fact. So, where am I bragging? Where am I talking about myself too much?
Just… I need to go to bed. I am so, so, so pissed. So, Andy Kaufman to cheer me up before bed, then bed.
Like, what kind of dumb idiot only ever talks about themselves when directly asked? No other time does this girl talk about herself. Holy fuck, what SUPER DUPER HIGH self-esteem she must have where she feels she can’t even talk about herself unless asked. This bitch was raised by animals with the barn door wide open.
Me: [comes home from work] Her: Hey, honey! Me: Hi. Work was hard but I will keep it all to myself and let that rage build up inside me. Her: Uh, why? Me: Can’t talk too much about myself, see.
Just raging right now. I seriously am.
It just offends me. Like, I try hard in all that I do, but nobody ever, ever, ever says “good job” or “congratulations,” and it’s not that I expect to be coddled and bottle-fed that sort of stuff, but a little validation from time to time would go a damn long way. There’s that.
I also don’t want to be around a girl who DOESN’T talk about herself. Like, OK, what are you going to talk about? Fuck this stupid life, man. You get criticized for being “too obsessed” with wrestling, and that’s all I ever talk about or think about, and now I am being criticized by somebody for the opposite concern? That I’m obsessed with myself (and not something outside of myself)? Fuck this bullshit, I’m raging.
I talk about myself because nobody else will, and because I love myself, and nobody else does. Now I have to watch what I say around this person, and fuck, that’s just annoying and nonsensical to me. What an intolerant troll, this one.
And the text she was referencing wasn’t even my spouting how great I am or anything of that sort. I was just trying to show to her that we had things in common and that I was a real, actual fucking person, and not some idiot virgin who just sits by his bedroom window, both fists balled under chin, idealizing about some girl who doesn’t know how conversation works.
I see the crazy in this girl already, and fuck it, I’m outie.
Just got a message back from a girl online and she patronized the shit out of me. She said I talk about myself a lot — which is true, because I work my butt off and never receive so much of a thank you for it. I sacrifice, I put others first, and not a damn word. Maybe if I felt more valid, I would not need to talk about myself.
But more than that, it’s how people empathize, or at least how I empathize. Did this girl just want me to talk about her? The whole time? “Hey, it’s awesome that you like [insert movie]. Also great that you like this [musician].”
NO, NO, NO
That’s not how shit gets done.
"Hey, you like [insert movie]? That was probably the best one I saw all year, glad to see another fan on here."
Maybe I am way off on this, but fuck me, I am not just gonna lob a bunch of questions at her… so SHE can talk about HERself. And nothing, and nobody, but. Again. Fuck that.
I insert myself into my statements because it makes sense to me. Because that’s how A-B conversations work. Person A shares something, then Person B relates to it in their own way.
A: I have cancer. B: I am so sorry. You know, I had cancer before too, so I understand how difficult it can be. Please let me know if you need anything.
That — THAT — is “talking about yourself a lot”?
Fuck this. Just straight up bullshit.
Then she grills me on “not asking very many questions.” And she didn’t even ask me motherfucking ONE question.
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