Last night, I had a long talk with a good friend, and the topic of safety came up. I've been thinking about it for the past while, and mulling over how I feel about it.
I think it was put by this friend that without risk we don't experience life.
I'm afraid of risk. I need to be safe. This has been true for a long time. Mostly, it show itself in the way that I hate being wrong. I can't handle it. If someone thinks I'm wrong, I get all uptight and defensive and I can just watch myself trying to explain how what I said actually meant this, and how the error was in the communication, not in me. Please not in me.
That's the root of my 'social' mask. I become what the person I'm talking to wants and expects and needs. Arguing is difficult/impossible for me, when it's something important. I don't want to challenge someone's beliefs. I don't want to say "you're wrong and I'm right" 'cause what if I'm not right?
I hate being wrong. I hate failing at something. Whenever I'm not good at something, it suddenly becomes unimportant (yes, I know it's a chicken/egg problem, but it's still true).
And, of course, this fear of being wrong rears its head in school. And I really don't like it. Here I am, in one of the most difficult programs at one of the most respected universities in Canada (and even in North America), and I'm ranked 1st, 2nd, and 1st in the first three terms, respectively, and the only person who has beaten me has transferred out of the program, and I still get uptight about marks. Never mind the fact that I've told so many people not to worry about marks because "hey, we all get the same piece of paper at the end." It's always hardest to listen to your own advice.
It was weird last term (2A), before I got my marks. Part of me really wanted for my grades to drop. I wanted to experience that. I wanted to not have that pressure to the extent that I put it on myself. I know that the first time for anything is the hardest, and I wanted to make that step, to convince myself that I don't have to be perfect. But whenever I thought about it I would tense up and my body itself would tell me no, I've got to keep this up, I have to because. . .
I don't know why. Probably because it's been something consistent in me throughout my life. I was always the best, the smartest. I was (am) the one that other students turn to when the teacher isn't making sense. Now, I love teaching, don't get me wrong: I love seeing someone understand something, seeing them realize that that little part of the world actually does make sense. I love the positive feedback I get, I love being needed, being wanted. And it's a great way of getting to know people (mostly women -- guys don't ask for help from their guy friends, it seems) 'cause it makes it easier for them to open up about other things. I've acted as amateur psychologist for more people. . . but it feels good. I like it. It's a way for me to get attention I crave, and for me to help people. I get a lot of pleasure from helping people.
Anyway, as I was saying, I've always been the smartest person around (in the math and science area). I sometimes wonder how people reacted to the fact that I started into the arts (well, drama mostly) in my last year of high school, and did wonderful things there, too (got an award for contribution to drama at graduation, just to add to the wheelbarrow load of things from the math and science area -- oh, and law and english, too, although not to the same degree). People are supposed to excel in one area, right? We're all supposed to be given talents in different areas: all men are created equal right? Yeah right. There's a fantasy. I've been given more things in my life: I must have done something really good in a previous life. I have skills in a wide range of areas which are really needed in today's society; I have incredibly great parents; money is not a problem; so why the heck don't people hate me?
I think I would. Yeah, sure, I've been told that "it's because you don't flaunt it" or "it's because you care about other people" or "but you're so nice" but hey, the only reason I'm nice and care about other people is because I've been raised in such a way that I get happiness from other people's pleasure. And I know that I would hate to be around someone who could consistently beat me in all the things that society values.
Yes, I know I'm being a bit high on myself and exagurating a little. But I don't understand how people can live knowing me. I don't understand why I have so many friends. I don't understand at all. And maybe it's just this bloated ego of mine that makes me think that I'm so special as all that.
But anyway, I work hard at recognizing where other people shine. It's a purely selfish safety thing. I don't want people to hate me.
In high school, one of the things that was missing in my life was a relationship. Part of me dealt with that by making that something that other people could beat me in. That made it easier for me to accept, and easier for me to accept why people seemed to like me. However, when my best friend and I met this girl at the same time, and both were smitten, and she ended up going out with him (after dumping me after a one-week not really real 'relationship'), that part of me that didn't like losing reared up with a vengence. And I still get satisfaction from the fact that now, years later, I'm still friends with her and he's not. So I won. So there.
But then I started my first real relationship (near the end of high school), and I remember worrying about the fact that now people would hate me because now I have everything. God, I'm high on myself, aren't I? Somebody destroy this bloody ego of mine before it smothers me. I'm not saying I regret anything at all, but it must make it hard on people. . . And now, after a year or so of being single, I'm back in a relationship that's excellent in all respects (except her parents don't like me 'cause I'm not Jewish).
Just after I got into that relationship, I was talking with a casual friend of mine, whom I hadn't really talked to. We were walking at night and talking about his lack of a relationship, and how he really really wants one, but knows that he wants one because it will heal him, but that that's not a healthy relationship, and he wouldn't want that, and so he's caught in this horrid Catch-22. Anyway, I knew exactly how he felt. I'd spent the term before that in deep depression because of desperately needing someone to be close to: to be an important part of someone's life, to get the approval that I need, that I'm a real person, that people can find me attractive, and that all my friends don't want to be 'just friends'. Anyway, I'd gotten out of that depression partly by accepting a few things about myself, and partly by making the conscious decision to start expanding my social group. And because of that, and due to complete and pure random chance, I was in a relationship. But I was talking and walking with this friend who was describing so many things that I remember feeling, and all I could do was listen and I know that a part of him was jealous of me, and I don't want that. But we walked and talked for a long time, and I know it was good for him, but I know I had to sensor what I was saying and not talk about my girlfriend.
I don't really know where I wanted to go with that. It relates somehow. I want to be what people need: I've been given so much and I want to give back, and I want people to like me and I don't understand why they do because I personally couldn't stand me. And so I have a great fear of losing whatever balance it is that keeps people liking me.
But I know that everybody doesn't like me for that mask I wear. And I don't like wearing that mask, and I don't think it's healthy, and it perpetuates this idea I have that people like me because of what I can give them, and so I need to take away that safety net. But it's so hard to do. And it's not like I want to change the fact that I'm nice to people and help them and listen to them. Heck no, that's something that I really like about who I am. So I want to show more of who I am, so maybe I can see who doesn't like me and why, and then maybe I can understand why people do like me. But it's so hard to do because it's not safe: it's a risk, but I want to do it, but it just never feels right, and I've learned to listen to my feelings (part of getting out of that depression).
So there's another (or is it the same?) reason for doing this journal. It feels right for me to expose myself in this way (well, at least it's easier). It's also really safe. I people want to know, they can read it. If not, they don't have to. And I can present many different sides of an issue, so that if someone gets upset at me for something, I can say 'oh, that's not what I meant' or 'oh, but look over here where I say this'. See, if I talk to someone in person, they tend to believe that what I say then is what I believe all the time. No, what I say is what I mean at the time I'm saying it. Nothing more.
It's safer that way.
(Wow, can you tell I've spent too much time writing? That ending is just too. . . short story-ish. Aw well, this comment should make up for it.)