Is this a common feeling...that while you expend time and energy writing and expressing yourself, it is all for naught because no one really cares what you think? I certainly do.
My own husband doesn't read my blog. I've asked him to take a look at my work, but he says that he's too busy at work. Then he kind of laughs at me because he thinks this entire process is silly. Thanks for all your support, hon.
Not that I've done anything to promote this thing. I don't know how. I only barely know how to search for other blogs, and I haven't been reading anyone else's work lately either. So, maybe this is how this goes--months of anonymous musings that no one reads until one day, someone accidentally or maybe on purpose stumbles across your work. Otherwise, this feels like an exercise in futility.
I just want a little attention. Part of the reason why I started this blog was because I was lonely and I wanted an outlet for my feelings. I had hoped that there were others out there like me who could relate to my feelings of isolation. But, if no one is reading this, then it is no different than my every day experiences of being by myself.
I work from home, so that means that I don't interact with that many people unless I leave the house. But even when I do that, I don't have conversations with people. I mostly observe behavior. I eat by myself, shop by myself. I am always by myself, and I sometimes wonder if it is because I am just not that interesting...
I have tried to reach out to people that I already know, but I am afraid of getting too close because those interactions rarely yield any meaningful relationships. This time last year, I was involved with a new church, and I thought that I had made some friends. But as time wore on, I found that I had simply found new people to know, but not people in whom I could confide or necessarily trust with my feelings. I had very little in common with them, and eventually I felt like an outsider in the one place where I'm supposed to belong. I haven't been back there in months, and I don't even think that anyone misses me.
I went back to dance class because I wanted to get in shape and I also wanted to meet more people my age. Well, St. Mark's isn't exactly a studio for younger women my age, especially in the classes I take on Tuesday and Friday evenings. The Wednesday class is better, so maybe something will perk up there. And the company isn't so bad, either.
To be fair, I have a few friends, including my very best friend who is in the area. I really should spend more time with her, but I worry that I will eventually wear her out or get in her way. She has a life, so why would she want to be shackled down with someone like me who has no life?
I must be one of those people who have some type of social anxiety disorder. I've been like this my entire life. I have always been something of a loner and I've always had trouble in making friends. My father and my brother are the same way. Rick (the hub) doesn't have close friends either. So in addition to not making friends myself, I am surrounded by people who don't also don't establish close friendships. I can't recall whom my mother is friends with these days, because she goes through "friend cycles" in which she may be in with one crowd for a while and then out with another after that. My aunt is like this also, only she drops people over the smallest little thing, so she is a "serial" friend. I have no clue how we all got this way, considering that both of my grandmothers had many life-long friends. Then again, my grandfather didn't...We're just a bunch of weirdos.
I shouldn't be this way, but I just don't trust people with my feelings. Whenever I open myself up and start to talk about how I might feel about a certain thing, I get negative feedback or my feelings are completely irrelevant when compared to what someone else mught be experiencing. If I were to vent about how isolated I feel, then it is my fault because I don't get out enough. If I say that I'm having a problem of some kind, then it can't be nearly as bad as those people there who are really suffering. It's like I don't matter.
Rick tries to comfort me by saying, 'well I listen and I'm here', but then he ruins it with statements about how he is the only person who cares or puts up with me anyway, so that always perks things up :) He has been knighted by everyone who knows us because he is so wonderful and I am merely Ayanna. He cooks, he shovels snow (even for the neighbors), and he bakes Christmas cakes! He is Mr. Wonderful and I should be grateful. I am sooo lucky, yay Rick!!!
And he tells everyone, too. But does he ever say anything about me? How I also cook, how I build shelves, grew tomatoes last summer, fold the laundry, and clean the house (not very often, but I try)? How I am caring, generous, and nice to a fault? Probably not, and even if he did, who cares anyway? Only those people who need things from me, and I could write volumes on all the needy people I know.
Yay me! Thanks for reading. Ciao.
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