I was a shy child, but sometimes I'd open up. And sometimes it was like a dam collapsing. I'd talk and talk. My mom would call these moments diarrhea of the mouth.
I'm reading Borderline right now, a novel by Janette Turner Hospital. There's a quote I can sort of relate to, on page 205.
I'm talking too much. Like a starving man in front of food. Can't handle temptation. You're dangerous. I can taste my need to trust you. Deadly.
There's this part of me that wants to avoid confiding in anyone. I want to keep everything to myself. I'm distrustful. I'm afraid I'll pour my heart out to someone, and they'll act bored. I'm afraid I'll pour my heart out to someone and they'll say/infer that my problems are ridiculous and trivial compared to other people's. I'm afraid I'll confide in someone; they'll listen with fake sympathy; then later when we're in a fight, they'll use the information against me.
I'm not just being paranoid. All these things have happened to me; some of them on a very regular basis. I'm sure they happen to everyone, and I'm sure, sadly, I've been the one to sometimes cause it for others. All I can think is that I'm weaker than most? I have less tolerance? Maybe I'm more sensitive?
A part of me thinks that there's something wrong with me, and I should learn to be more free-spirited. I should be like others—talk and not worry about people's reactions. Another part of me feels maybe that's another sacred cow we stupidly cling to. Maybe we do NOT need to have someone to pour our heart out to. Maybe we don't need a shoulder to cry on. Maybe it's better to keep things to ourselves and be self-reliant.
In the end it doesn't matter, though. Like the guy in the book, I become weak and give in. I open up to people. I wish I could say I feel great during and afterward. But....usually, I don't. I feel like someone in the midst of eating a big plate of food retrieved from a buffet table. It tastes great, and you try to tell yourself it won't hurt too much. But then you worry about gaining weight and/or getting a stomach ache.
Strangely, I don't get as much self-doubt and nervousness when I blab on and on about myself in this blog. I'm not sure why that is. I know there are people reading. Maybe collectively people scare me less than they do as individuals? That might be it.
I think, though, that this blog makes me even MORE reluctant to talk to people about myself. I feel I do so much talking here. What's the point of talking elsewhere?
I'm reading Borderline right now, a novel by Janette Turner Hospital. There's a quote I can sort of relate to, on page 205.
I'm talking too much. Like a starving man in front of food. Can't handle temptation. You're dangerous. I can taste my need to trust you. Deadly.
There's this part of me that wants to avoid confiding in anyone. I want to keep everything to myself. I'm distrustful. I'm afraid I'll pour my heart out to someone, and they'll act bored. I'm afraid I'll pour my heart out to someone and they'll say/infer that my problems are ridiculous and trivial compared to other people's. I'm afraid I'll confide in someone; they'll listen with fake sympathy; then later when we're in a fight, they'll use the information against me.
I'm not just being paranoid. All these things have happened to me; some of them on a very regular basis. I'm sure they happen to everyone, and I'm sure, sadly, I've been the one to sometimes cause it for others. All I can think is that I'm weaker than most? I have less tolerance? Maybe I'm more sensitive?
A part of me thinks that there's something wrong with me, and I should learn to be more free-spirited. I should be like others—talk and not worry about people's reactions. Another part of me feels maybe that's another sacred cow we stupidly cling to. Maybe we do NOT need to have someone to pour our heart out to. Maybe we don't need a shoulder to cry on. Maybe it's better to keep things to ourselves and be self-reliant.
In the end it doesn't matter, though. Like the guy in the book, I become weak and give in. I open up to people. I wish I could say I feel great during and afterward. But....usually, I don't. I feel like someone in the midst of eating a big plate of food retrieved from a buffet table. It tastes great, and you try to tell yourself it won't hurt too much. But then you worry about gaining weight and/or getting a stomach ache.
Strangely, I don't get as much self-doubt and nervousness when I blab on and on about myself in this blog. I'm not sure why that is. I know there are people reading. Maybe collectively people scare me less than they do as individuals? That might be it.
I think, though, that this blog makes me even MORE reluctant to talk to people about myself. I feel I do so much talking here. What's the point of talking elsewhere?