Speaking of Which....

.... Which I wasn't.....

"Sometimes, you just have to step back, relax, and take a deep breath. However, you might also find it helpful to get some heavy radiation therapy. "

OK, so a friend of mine - and when memory starts serving me, I may even recall SEVERAL various occasions of the same - was discussing the ridiculousness surrounding feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment or even general concern/awareness over how we are viewed by others. Why the hell do we care, right? Tis truly a dream of mine that I didn't. Simply put, that very subject sums up my entire life to date. Simple indeed. Almost pitiful how much a Simpleton that makes me. A Rube, even.

Shallow? When it comes to how I view of myself - yes. I'm afraid of sharks, after all.  I previously listed a handful of my ultimate fears in life. What I oh-so-super-sneakily omitted is the supreme fear of myself. Sure, I can attribute bits and pieces to one experience or another. Enjoy how I even danced around calling a spade a spade? Too easy to blame others for my hypersensitivities. But to actually sit down and give it the level of thought and attention I lavish upon the mundane - well that may bring even MORE insecurities bubbling to the surface. We can't have that, now, can we?

Sure we can! So here goes: I can honestly recall being overly aware of my surroundings from the ripe age of 3. At the time, I was having bizarre health problems in both ears. I'd be walking along around the campus where my dad worked, minding my own business for no other reason than I was thoroughly entertained by my own shadow - then BOOM! Spontaneously and without just cause, my eardrums would explode and tiny streams of blood would start seeping from each ear. Normally, one would think I'd be too consumed in the horror of these events to notice the crowd that had amassed around me. No such luck - nosey gawkers would move in like vultures to take in the train wreck before them. But these weren't your average good Samaritans there to lend a helping hand (and/or to dial 911, stat) - rather, they just stared. Silent horror. Staring.

Did it all begin there? Not sure... Based on the strange patchwork hippie frocks my mom plopped my chubby l'il frame into, there may well have been earlier occasions of shocked chortling. But from that shining moment forward, I was always aware - suspiciously paranoid, even.

Amusingly enough, the more I longed to blend in with the wallpaper, the more outrageous my taste in "style" became. Subconsciously I suppose I figured if "they" (they = the general public, at large) were going to look at me, may as well give them a show! And the question remains - why care? Why let the snickers and whispers sink through my rice paper skin? From that ripe age of 3, I chose to believe that the world was watching me, judging me, and had absolutely nothing nice to say. This countered once-held beliefs that others had been taught if they had nothing nice to say to say nothing at all... Ahhh, but they were WHISPERING! So it must be sinister! Furthermore, it MUST BE ABOUT ME!!!! *gentle weeping*

In the grand scheme of things, these people... this...*shiver*....public... surely has better things to concern itself with than expending such time and energy to the judgement of Ninja Kitty. Pesky Kitty brain... as precisely THEN come those evil seeds of irrelevance. Is there a more tortuous response to such fragility than insignificance? Coming to find out you had, in reality, gone for years unnoticed!? Sweet jesus, there must be a healthy balance to all of this. If there is, I clearly have not received that memo. So on I go - day in and day out - all too aware of that out of place hair, or the bleach spot on the calf of my pants... the toenail polish that has chipped or the unraveling seam of a jacket cuff. These all register as glaring beacons of stupidity and neglect in my head. If there is a laugh in the distance, it is unarguably known to be at my expense. Innocent compliment? No such thing - it is simply a gesture of pity to offset something else that must be wrong. Hopping beyond general awareness and straight into the realm of madness.

So where, oh where, does the madness end? At the moment, as disco music has once again invaded my psyche, the answer seems to circle back to notions of joining the circus. Surely, the carnies would accept me? Or that nicely landscaped sanitarium downtown, perhaps?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Kitty

Monday, April 18, 2011

Speaking of Which....

.... Which I wasn't.....

"Sometimes, you just have to step back, relax, and take a deep breath. However, you might also find it helpful to get some heavy radiation therapy. "

OK, so a friend of mine - and when memory starts serving me, I may even recall SEVERAL various occasions of the same - was discussing the ridiculousness surrounding feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment or even general concern/awareness over how we are viewed by others. Why the hell do we care, right? Tis truly a dream of mine that I didn't. Simply put, that very subject sums up my entire life to date. Simple indeed. Almost pitiful how much a Simpleton that makes me. A Rube, even.

Shallow? When it comes to how I view of myself - yes. I'm afraid of sharks, after all.  I previously listed a handful of my ultimate fears in life. What I oh-so-super-sneakily omitted is the supreme fear of myself. Sure, I can attribute bits and pieces to one experience or another. Enjoy how I even danced around calling a spade a spade? Too easy to blame others for my hypersensitivities. But to actually sit down and give it the level of thought and attention I lavish upon the mundane - well that may bring even MORE insecurities bubbling to the surface. We can't have that, now, can we?

Sure we can! So here goes: I can honestly recall being overly aware of my surroundings from the ripe age of 3. At the time, I was having bizarre health problems in both ears. I'd be walking along around the campus where my dad worked, minding my own business for no other reason than I was thoroughly entertained by my own shadow - then BOOM! Spontaneously and without just cause, my eardrums would explode and tiny streams of blood would start seeping from each ear. Normally, one would think I'd be too consumed in the horror of these events to notice the crowd that had amassed around me. No such luck - nosey gawkers would move in like vultures to take in the train wreck before them. But these weren't your average good Samaritans there to lend a helping hand (and/or to dial 911, stat) - rather, they just stared. Silent horror. Staring.

Did it all begin there? Not sure... Based on the strange patchwork hippie frocks my mom plopped my chubby l'il frame into, there may well have been earlier occasions of shocked chortling. But from that shining moment forward, I was always aware - suspiciously paranoid, even.

Amusingly enough, the more I longed to blend in with the wallpaper, the more outrageous my taste in "style" became. Subconsciously I suppose I figured if "they" (they = the general public, at large) were going to look at me, may as well give them a show! And the question remains - why care? Why let the snickers and whispers sink through my rice paper skin? From that ripe age of 3, I chose to believe that the world was watching me, judging me, and had absolutely nothing nice to say. This countered once-held beliefs that others had been taught if they had nothing nice to say to say nothing at all... Ahhh, but they were WHISPERING! So it must be sinister! Furthermore, it MUST BE ABOUT ME!!!! *gentle weeping*

In the grand scheme of things, these people... this...*shiver*....public... surely has better things to concern itself with than expending such time and energy to the judgement of Ninja Kitty. Pesky Kitty brain... as precisely THEN come those evil seeds of irrelevance. Is there a more tortuous response to such fragility than insignificance? Coming to find out you had, in reality, gone for years unnoticed!? Sweet jesus, there must be a healthy balance to all of this. If there is, I clearly have not received that memo. So on I go - day in and day out - all too aware of that out of place hair, or the bleach spot on the calf of my pants... the toenail polish that has chipped or the unraveling seam of a jacket cuff. These all register as glaring beacons of stupidity and neglect in my head. If there is a laugh in the distance, it is unarguably known to be at my expense. Innocent compliment? No such thing - it is simply a gesture of pity to offset something else that must be wrong. Hopping beyond general awareness and straight into the realm of madness.

So where, oh where, does the madness end? At the moment, as disco music has once again invaded my psyche, the answer seems to circle back to notions of joining the circus. Surely, the carnies would accept me? Or that nicely landscaped sanitarium downtown, perhaps?

No comments:

Post a Comment