Me & my bullshit, part one.

This is about how many fucks I give.

This is about how many fucks I give.

“You’re the girl from the magazine, right?” he asked.

It was a guy I recognized from my gym. I shrugged.

“I guess…” I said, not really sure what he meant.

“Yeah, you write that bullshit column,” he said.

That bullshit column. Three little words that pretty much sum up my insecurities — especially lately. Let me start from the beginning.

A few weeks ago, I got the bright idea to Tweet my first book, “How I Fell: Love, Lies & Cocktails,” 140 characters at a time. I have seen other writers do it, and I have quite a few Twitter followers, so I thought it would be a great way to shake things up, get some marketing out there for my book, possibly sell a few copies, and get some more followers.

What I didn’t realize, is that it took a REALLY long time to Tweet the book — like, three whole days. During those three days, I barely got any sleep, I was living off takeout and alcohol, and the worst part of it? I was having to read (and type) a relationship that was terrible. I did not take into account just how emotional reading that stuff from two years ago would be. It was bad.

That same week, I’d set aside some time to have a “Facetime date” with my high school crush (you can read our full story here)… his name rhymes with Ryan Wence. The day of our “date,” he sent me a text saying a work friend was in town and he (the friend) wanted to go to dinner. Ryan apologized, saying he didn’t realize how long his friend was planning on being in town when he scheduled our date, and he hoped I wasn’t mad.

I told him of course I wasn’t mad at all, and I hoped he had fun at dinner. Ryan asked if we could reschedule for the following day. In my emotional book-Tweeting state, I wrote him back saying yes, we could reschedule, and said I admittedly misread his first text, and thought for a split second the friend was a girl and I almost got jealous (smiley-wink). I didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t respond.

Let me tell you a little bit about my relationship with Ryan. We hooked up almost a year ago when I went on a visit to Indiana. Since then, I admitted to him that I liked him, a lot, and he told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship, having just got out of something serious. I understood and appreciated his honesty. We kept in touch via text mostly, sometimes we talked on the phone.

I really appreciated his friendship — we have a lot of things in common, and he was kind to me, and supportive when I needed it. For Valentine’s Day, I sent him a homemade card in the mail. He told me he had it on display in his living room, and he wished he could be with me for the holiday.

He later told me he knew he hadn’t been the nicest person to me, and he appreciated our friendship more than he could even admit. “I check my phone every day to see if you’ve texted me,” he said.

I’ve got plans to be in Indiana this May, so we made plans to meet up. This is when I suggested the Facetime date. The following day, I texted Ryan to see what time he wanted to talk. He replied:

“I don’t think we should talk. Your text last night scared me. We aren’t even dating yet I will date other women. Your Tweets last night were scary. Your behavior is scaring me.”

HUH?

My book Tweets were scaring him? This was a guy that’s read my blog, column, and one of my books! What the hell was he talking about? And I was totally trying to be playful about the jealousy thing… I never said we were dating, or said he couldn’t date other women — but thanks for finding the shittiest way possible to tell me you’re not interested in me whatsoever.

But my attempts at explaining myself went into that black hole where apparently ALL of my bullshit goes; that place where guys put all of my messages and ghost me forever. I haven’t heard from him since.

I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling like I don’t fit in — it’s really just been a matter of how much I care or not. As an adult, I’m starting to realize and accept more and more that no, I don’t fit in, and it’s probably not going to change any time soon (or ever).

I am a creative. I think differently than a lot of people. I also work for myself (as a result of my creativity), which means I don’t work “normal” hours, I don’t make money in the conventional way, and my work processes are very different. Me Tweeting a book was simply something I was trying to do to shake things up, keep me on the edge of creativity, essentially make a few sales, and now I was being shamed for it. Awesome.

I started to wonder just how much more of this I can take. In the last few months, I’ve been rejected quite a few times — am I really that terrible a person? When a recent crush I had rejected me by telling me he was seeing someone (which I think he wasn’t), I posted on Facebook that I’d be hiding under my couch for a few days and that I felt ugly. Someone commented saying I needed to stop calling myself ugly.

Sure, I get that. And thank you. But just because I’m not a troll, doesn’t mean I wake up every morning feeling beautiful. Trust me, when people tell you that everything you write is bullshit, and that you don’t even deserve a chance at a date, or that your behavior is scary, it’s really easy to feel ugly every once in awhile.

Read “Me & my bullshit, part two” right here, Monday, April 6. 

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Posted on April 2, 2015, in The Squeeze and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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