avoidance...

The blog has been inactive for the past couple of weeks, as those of you who read here have probably noticed.

I haven't had much to say lately. More truthfully, I've had so much to say -- but it's all the same old stuff -- that I decided I'd skip writing it down. Often I've looked at a blank screen or gazed at the lines of empty paper, fingers poised for typing or pen a millimeter from the page.

Nothing.

Honestly, I've been afraid. I've been afraid of judgement, afraid of rejection. I've been terrified of the "I told you so"s and the "you have to do it this way"s that might crop up -- might being the key word. How am I to know what people will think or say or do? And why should that get in the way of living?

It's so much easier to tell someone else to be brave -- to keep trying -- to never give up -- to remember that he or she is worth it. 

It's a lot harder to tell those things to yourself, let alone follow through and change.

dirty is just dirt with a "y" on the end...

Yesterday my family and I began the four hour drive to my grandparents' house in northeastern Utah, the majestic Flaming Gorge. No, they don't actually live at the reservoir, but they live a few miles away, in a little (tiny) community called Flaming Gorge Pines. They're about an hour north of Vernal, if that helps you orient yourself. Not very many people know about the Pines.

Due to an unhappy accident, the people who we asked to take care of the dogs at my parents' house didn't get a house key that works. And so, 2 hours after we'd arrived in the Pines, my dad and I volunteered to make the four hour trip back down to Orem to save the puppies.

While we were driving home, I mentioned some things that have been on my mind in an off-hand, nonchalant sort of way -- mostly about that one guy we call Aries and all of the trouble I've been having. Dad didn't say much, just told me that I shouldn't worry about another guy being like that because I learned and I won't let anyone treat me badly again. Then we got on the subject of other people's problems again, and I stopped talking, listening for the next two hours.

This morning on our way back up to the Pines (which only took 3 hours and 15 minutes this time), dad brought Aries up. Just out of nowhere, he started talking about the whole thing and then told me that maybe the only way I can get over it is by talking about it, "from start to finish, talk it through."

I nodded and went back to looking out the window. Dad touched my shoulder and said, "You can talk right now, if you'd like."

My whole self shut down. Really, I was overcome with a feeling of utter shame and embarrassment. All thoughts flew from my brain and I had no words. I almost felt like I was five-years-old again, caught covered from head to toe in black, sticky mud -- a dirty little child. But mud is fun, until you get in trouble. Aries wasn't fun. And even though things weren't entirely my fault, and nothing really bad happened, being asked about it by my dad was horrible.

I don't know why. Usually I can tell my dad everything, and it doesn't matter. Maybe because lately most people tell me not to talk about it, and I've gotten so used to just pretending that it doesn't bother me.

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to talk about this -- I don't even want to go through it from "start to finish."

Once again, as soon as someone asks me to tell them things, is willing to let me just talk, I have nothing to say. After this morning, I almost never want to discuss it again.

I don't like feeling so bad. Especially when things weren't completely my fault.

door mat...

Some of you may know my middle name and think it fits rather well. Others know what I say it is and disagree with it. And others have no clue what it is.

Well. I will tell you.

Hi, my name is Georgie, and though the initial in the middle of my name is "K" my real middle name is Door Mat.

Don't believe me? You should believe me, because it is very much true. Try as I might to change that middle name, it takes time and money and knowledge, none of which I have at the moment (or in any upcoming moments, it looks like).

A lot of people walk all over me. Granted, not everyone does, but enough that it hurts and gets old. It doesn't always start out that way -- a lot of friendships have started out with mutual give and take. Then I start to notice that I'm the one doing most of (in some cases all of) the giving and getting little back. The more I notice it, the more afraid I get, and the more I begin to pull away. I give less because I get scared of being hurt more -- I put on a face of indifference when in reality it hurts, but I don't know what to do or say to fix it. Maybe it's because I expect too much of others. Maybe it's because I'm "loyal to a fault" and any little deviation from what I consider loyalty is painful for me, but it doesn't even cross the other person's mind as an issue. I don't know how to talk about it, though. Conflict, potential conflict, whatever of any kind is literally the stuff of nightmares for me. I hate it.

It's not fun being a door mat. It's not fun trying to stick up for yourself, either. When you do try, people are so used to you just laying down and saying "Here, step on me, and don't forget to wipe your feet on my face -- the carpet is more important, and the shine of soles of your shoes is just absolutely imperative" that they don't take a "No" or an "I don't want to" or an "I have an idea" seriously. Sometimes I wonder if people don't think a door mat person can even come up with anything close to the definition of an idea -- door mats can't think. They're simply there to be walked over and to scrape the mud off of the bottom of your shoes.

I wish I weren't so afraid to say what I want. I wish I weren't so scared of offending someone or coming across as bossy and controlling. I don't want to be bossy and controlling. Neither do I want to be ignored or have what I want pushed aside -- or have people think that I really don't want anything. I'm the girl who just does what others want -- I watch movies I don't feel comfortable watching, I do activities I don't want to do, I eat food I don't like, I do things that make me extremely anxious or that bore me, I say things that I really don't believe, I don't say anything if it disagrees with a friend's opinion or belief -- I just do what I'm told. Any little fight I put up generally gets ignored anyway, so I give up pretty easily.

Finding a balance between outright rude or bossy and being a door mat is so hard for me. I hate anything remotely close to conflict. Unfortunately, that makes me very good at the cold shoulder. I'm so afraid of a fight or an argument that I just shut down, pull back, and avoid people that I feel anxious about. That's no good, either. It's just as hurtful, if not more so, than simply piping up and saying, "Um, excuse me, but would you please take into consideration my feelings, rather than only thinking about what you want? Yeah, thanks. I'd appreciate it."

funny how that works...

The more I get to know you, the more I find that we are incredibly compatible. We like the same things and we dislike the same things. We have similar goals and dreams. We have similar opinions politically, socially, spiritually, family-ly, educationally, and the like. We think very much the same about the world, and even when we disagree we are able to come to some sort of a compromise (except on the issue of whether cake is good or not. I will like cake no matter how much you dislike it).

And so here we are, able to converse for hours on end without getting bored of one another. Here we are, able to sit together in companionable silence without it getting awkward. And always, the we ends and it's back to you in your world and me in mine.

I haven't met anyone like you before. I've had best friends and people I could talk to about most everything, but you? Note that this is weird because you're a guy: you are the one who I can talk to about everything. Literally everything. And the best part? You talk back. About everything. When we're not talking, we're still communicating. It's different, but it's a comfortable feeling. It's one I don't get tired of quickly.

It's odd, because when I'm with you I feel content and complete. It's a perfect friendship, one of mutual caring and understanding with a very open channel of communication. I don't have to be afraid to talk to you about things that might be weird or potentially awkward. For you, it's just making things better by talking through it. I appreciate that.

Sometimes it's strange to me that we're friends. Then if I think about it, I realize thinking about it is ridiculous. Why analyze something that brings me joy? Still, though. It's funny.

Funny.

kaboom...

I'm the kind of person who can't keep her own secrets. I can keep other people's, but never my own. Why? I have to talk to someone about what's going on inside my head. The bad things about that are:

...what happens when you can't find any words?
...who do you go to when you don't know what to say?
...how do you call someone when you're too afraid to dial--after all, what if they actually pick up?

I'll try what my English teacher suggests: word vomit, meaning writing every word that comes to mind to eventually get to the main idea.

I'm upset because
...every time I finally feel comfortable somewhere, everything changes and I have to start all over again.
...I hate the helpless feeling I get when I hear my sisters talk about their friend who killed himself last week, and I hate the fear I feel when they don't talk but you can see all over their faces what they're thinking about.
...there's too much to learn and not enough time to become good at everything.
...people are thoughtless. I am, too.
...I'm so awkward, and I feel like people don't think I'm being sincere when I really and truly am.
...being in pain for a week and a half is not easy to live with (it makes me ache for the people who have to deal with it every single day of their lives).
...no matter what I do, I still look and feel the same.
...I'm suddenly faced with great uncertainty in where I stand at work, and I'm afraid to approach my boss and ask about it because I'm afraid of what she'll say.
...I cannot for the life of me find my paycheck (with my W2 in it that costs $10 to replace).
...no one has really hugged me in days, which is weird because I usually don't like to be touched.
...school is boring. It's kind of a let down, actually.
...I'm selfish. I don't know how to change it, either.
...I'm never going to be good enough.
...writing to my missionary friends is getting harder and harder to do, not because I can't make time, but because (once again) I don't know what to say.
...Molly is naughty on purpose to get attention. Irritating.
...things from my past keep coming to mind, things that hurt or frighten me or make me feel so ashamed of myself. All are things I thought I'd gotten over, but I can't let them go.
...my room is messy, my laundry isn't done, and my homework isn't finished. Each my fault. Each beyond my capacity to complete right now...or at least beyond desire.
...I really, really, really dislike being told how I think. How the heck should anybody know how I think? I don't care how many degrees you have. Do not tell me how I think about the world.
...I'm so afraid of people. I can't even talk to the people I trust because I'm afraid of them.

...explosion in progress...

*kaboom*

who are you?

Parker, a coworker of mine, asked me a question about a month ago that has really bothered me. It has bothered me because I didn't know the answer. I still feel like I don't know the answer, and no matter how much I think about it and try to come up with something satisfactory, it doesn't seem right.

"Who are you?" Parker asked. The question stemmed from a long conversation about how to read people and what he could read about me, just from knowing me for a few weeks. He asked me again a couple of days ago, and I made something up like "I'm a college student, a sister, a daughter, and a friend." He seemed slightly more satisfied with that answer than with my previous "I don't know", and then told me to keep thinking.

Who am I, friends? Because honestly, I'm not sure who I am. Or maybe I know, but I'm too afraid to write it down or say it out loud. Once written down or spoken aloud, it becomes a responsibility. I don't know if I can live up to the expectations. I worry that there is so much to lose.

Perhaps it doesn't make any sense, and maybe putting it off isn't the proper way to go about it. Right now though, trying to come up with a definition of who I am is giving me a headache. Not to mention I think I'm allergic to the idea...if you get my meaning.