Disclaimer: There will be pictures–still getting the hang of this camera thing, so forgive the unprofessional quality–but there will also be whining. Feel free to skip the whining. You have been warned.
Sometimes I think there might be something wrong with me.
I’ve never really been all that attached to people.
I have friends, and everything; I’m not the Unabomber. Well, not yet. Still working on the beard and I’m negotiating a price for my Montana cabin getaway.
But sometimes I realize that I don’t feel much for most of the people in my life.
When I left home, for example, I teared up when I left my dad. I cried when I left my cat–should admit that–redacted!
But that was it. No one else got tears.
I remember other times in my life where I expressed an emotion simply because that seemed to be the appropriate thing to do. I don’t know if I truly felt those things or if I did it for show.
I have hardly ever been attached on a deep emotional level with anyone. I can’t even say I’ve ever really hated anyone. I get annoyed, but I don’t hate. I can appreciate the company of people, but I don’t love or feel much for them. Like my politics, my emotions have always fallen dead center.
I am lukewarm. Tepid. Passionless.
This brings me to C, who visited last weekend. We had fun. His friends were with him most of the time, so I didn’t get that closure that I had been hoping so desperately for. I have lain awake at night dreaming of this boy and our potential future.
But when I saw him…I felt nothing. No fluttery feeling, no hope, no love…nothing. I was numb to him, to everything. No, numb isn’t the word. Uncaring. Completely and totally uncaring.
Obviously I’m no longer in love with him. Right?
Sometimes we’re more attached to the memory of people than we are to the actual person. I keep telling myself this, reassuring myself that I did, at one time, feel something very deep for him. I remember loving him, dreaming of him, but when faced with the reality, the feeling didn’t seem to be there anymore. But it was there, I’m sure of it. This is a comfort because I so rarely feel anything–or at least anything strong–for other people that I wanted to hold onto it so I could remind myself that I’m human and not some sort of sociopath.
Perhaps all of this numbness is some sort of survival mechanism that my mind uses to keep me from getting hurt. God, I hope that’s it. That would be such a tidy explanation. It would make me a better person, a sweet, vulnerable, sensitive person who is warm and caring deep down. A block of ice that only needs to be thawed out a little bit in order for her real emotions to come pouring out. And there would be rainbows and dancing unicorns and Skittles for everyone.
I hope that the defense mechanism thing is what it is. If that’s not the case, then…I don’t know.
Even writing this…shouldn’t this make me sad? Shouldn’t I be sad that I’m like this, that I can’t connect with people emotionally, that I don’t have to put up walls because there’s nothing there to shield? Shouldn’t it depress me that I’m superficial? That I seem warm, friendly, and caring, but inwardly I’m horribly, bitterly cold?
I’m not sad, though. I feel nothing.