Trouble with Eating

One of my coworkers, Sandy if you’ve been following, and I were tasked with coming up with a couple new routines for work. In order to get time to sit down together and brainstorm, the other day she suggested that we should discuss possibilities over some dinner at the local 24/7 diner after our shift ended since it was appallingly late and neither of us had the opportunity to eat prior.

I went, against the inner little nagging voice of my fears, because I have a life to live and I can’t just… not live it. I felt like having the company and, in the interest of not trying to make my life sound more glam than it ever is, I am powerfully lonely, all the time, every day, so if she had suggested going to the grocery store, running naked through a frat quad, or driving to the west coast on a whim, I probably would have done it without a moment of hesitation (although, I am quite relieved that she did not suggest running through a frat quad naked). We also had things to talk about and for a few dollars I could get a large satisfying meal that I didn’t have to cook myself. There were very few cons about accepting the invite.

Sandy knows me, knows what I look like, my peeves, my hidden snarky side. We have worked together for the past two years and occasionally I tutor her with whatever classes are the hurdle of the day (although she is incredibly intelligent, has far surpassed me in Calculus, and I’m just completely useless with her engineering courses). But the thing is, we don’t spend a lot of time together outside of work. Even the tutoring usually happens in the employee area when our shifts match up. So we haven’t actually gone anywhere or done anything in the general population like normal people. Fortunately, we both embrace the word “freak.” She is a delightful body-modification “punk-junkie” with hair more colors than a mantis shrimp can see, and a bit of an activist deeply into alternative fashion in the context of fat-positivity and love-your-body-at-any-size movements. So when I spend time with her, I feel pretty comfortable.

It was late, so I didn’t have to worry about there being a lot of people (I may live my life, but I’m still extremely self-conscious. That doesn’t go away.), but in the past-midnight hours, there are frequently belligerent inebriates and I have narrowly avoided incidents with such people a handful of times. That was all I could think of that might have been detrimental, but nothing else. And Sandy was extremely considerate about me, requesting a booth tucked away in a corner behind the cashier’s area, so that we were in a nice secluded little alcove. And even the waitress who came over was perfectly cordial to both of us.

It was when the food was brought out that I had the first germination of real anxiety.

One thing many people don’t think about when it comes to my scarring (and why would they?) is that it affects much more than mere aesthetic. The thing about my scars is someone cut my face open. And although they are mostly faded now, the suture scars along the edges of the "smile" seem to suggest that merely cutting wasn’t enough, that it was done surgically. Someone restructured my face. I don’t think there was any resulting nerve damage since my face is completely usable and sensory, but the way my face healed, the skin puckers along the incision lines. This causes constant pulling at my cheeks and lips and impedes the mobility of my face. I frequently say that I wear a "permanent smile" but not because my mouth is drawn back from my teeth in a frozen maniacal grimace to resemble an actual smile. I am clearly just scarred. But the pulling, the limited range of movement, means that trying to do anything like frowning is a painful effort. The scarring keeps my mouth fairly taut and to countermand the reconstruction of it is nearly impossible. This difficulty translates over into anything else I do with my mouth, like eating and drinking.

I hadn't considered this prior to being confronted with our meals since I had a straw in my glass of water. And when I looked at my first forkful, I had the extremely eloquent thought, "oh shit." I try to be downright dainty with my eating etiquette, tiny bites of food on the fork, nothing too messy, nothing that can leak. Around my family, I am not so conscious of my habits, but I always try to be aware of myself. And, left unchecked, watching me eat has to be fairly disgusting.

Sandy said nothing about it... not that she would. Hopefully, I was not an embarrassment although I caught myself a couple times spilling. The whole time, I just wanted to slink under the table.

If I ever mention going out to eat again, please talk me out of it. It's a really bad idea.

(Non)Adventure + A Picture a Day: Day 16

About two weeks/ a week and a half ago, feeling restless and in unusually low spirits, I left the apartment to do something, anything, other than stay inside and do work or chores or more job applications. I wanted company but Dea was busy and there was no one else available, and in that situation, to fend off any encroaching loneliness, I went off for some dedicated introspection. It was still cold, still suitable weather for my scarf, and I needed to be outside, to walk and think without being interrupted and beyond the confines of the apartment walls.

I thought about going to the green, but I live in an extremely populated area, and when you're feeling lonely, sometimes it's even worse in the midst of many people. This also ruled out Orson's uni campus. And I did not wish to be disturbed, particularly if the point of escaping the apartment was to have a few moments of clarity in solitude.

Instead, I went to the next best place for quiet, solitude, and nature: one of the older cemeteries in the area. I had to drive there since it is across several non-pedestrian-friendly freeways, but once there, I found a place where I could park partly off the road to allow another vehicle by with ease. At the entrance, there was someone doing maintenance, so I went to the opposite end of this rather extensive cemetery so that I wouldn't cross paths with him.

The beauty about the cemetery is that not only is it quiet and scenic but it's usually fairly empty. Even though I often go around without my face covered, it always stresses me out when others are present. Even if they don't notice me or look at me, I feel exposed and the self-consciousness is all-consuming (which is also another reason why company helps, because I am distracted from the self-destructive internal dialogue I have with myself). So being alone, armed with a camera, on a brisk day, with all the landscape before me and some truly beautiful stones, I pulled down the scarf and headed off towards a huge stump of a newly felled tree. I was already feeling much better than I had been in the apartment.

(It's quite sad that such a large and old tree had to be cut down, so I thought I'd take a picture of the stump. Unfortunately, there was no way to accurately judge the enormity of it, so I put the camera on timer and hopped on to show its size. I look like a little kid on it.)

Not even five minutes later, a huge truck rolls up right behind my car and stops. I thought he had plenty of room to go by (and he did, upon checking), but the maintenance worker got out and came towards me. I pulled my scarf back up and went over and asked if he needed me to pull the car over even more. All he did was stare at me for a moment as if trying to figure out what I was doing and then he told me I had to move my car somewhere else (mind you, there's no place for parking here so one place is much the same as another) and then began asking me all kinds of questions: why was I there, how long was I going to stay, was I a student at one of the universities, etc. etc. and then he started on how my coat looked thin and how it wasn't cold enough for a scarf. Annoying. I told him I was just cold and I got in my car and moved off to another location. I got out, started wandering again.... and he FOLLOWED ME. Not on my tail, but close enough so that the engine disturbed the stillness and he kept an eye on me, and my stress levels just skyrocketed, to the point that, not even twenty minutes into the cemetery, I ended up leaving.

(I snapped this there. Who puts shoes on stones though? I've heard of coins and small rocks... but boots? Really? And they're not bronzed shoes or anything. They are actual, unattached, boots.)

I went to another cemetery, also large and historic, but not nearly as cozy as the other one, lacking trees and rambling paths, and any sort of park-like quality. I walked around for about an hour, looking at some of the beautifully carved stones, happily left in peace while I took pictures, some quite ordinary, some quite silly.

(This would be of the silly variety. And, while I look at this, I think I really need a haircut.)

But as I was going around the backside of the cemetery, a dog ran over to me. I don't mind animals at all. I'm rather more partial to animals than I am to people and I bent down and pet him while he smelled Philandros on me. But as I looked around for his companion, I saw a couple of women walking over. Up with the scarf again. They came over for the dog (I learned that his name was Brûlée) and started talking to me.

Now, I don't know what it is about people but sometimes they are maddening. I do enjoy social interaction, I just stress out about it. And that's okay. I can usually move beyond it. But people just state the obvious and I always have to keep my snark in check because most people don't appreciate it. I can have a sharp tongue at times, sharpened ever more by increasing frustration at having to hold it. And amid the pleasantries (ie, discussing the weather), they told me that it was too warm for a scarf (you know, just in case I wasn't enjoying the same weather that they were. Twice, in one day. What the....). I thanked them for that vital piece of unknown information (no, not really, but I wanted to) and we went in our own directions... or at least I thought we had. Every time I went to pull down my scarf again, the women would be disturbingly nearby.

(I was very much not amused as you can tell by that raised eyebrow of mine and that withering glance. And that handless book-toting figure behind me looks rather irate too.)

Now, this is a huge cemetery. Huge. We were the only ones there. And yet, I went to the newer section, they wandered there too. I went to the earliest part, they followed. I went to the Civil War section, they came over to admire the column statuary. In conclusions, I ended up leaving there earlier than desired too. 

Privacy, even outside of personal space, isn't usually that hard to come by if you know the places to go... like the cemetery. And if you think about it more as an outdoor sculpture garden than a place to deposit dead people, it really isn't as morbid as it sounds. The carvings do take a great deal of artistry and many cemeteries were designed by architects as park spaces, meant to be used for people like me seeking a little escape from the rest of the world.

It was a disappointing day, but it did get me out of the apartment and allowed me to return to it with a little more inner peace than prior. And now you get to see just how silly I am at times.

And, this definitely counts as A Picture a Day (Day 16) because you got three pics of me today (lucky devils that you are).

The Need for Company

I am a complete introvert. I grew up alone. I am good with my own company. But I spend so much of my time on my own that I often feel desperate for any kind of social interaction and I don’t often get it. The few people I count as friends don’t live within the vicinity and those acquaintances that do are perfectly amenable to talking online or coming over the apartment or me going to theirs but never wish to go out and do everyday normal-person things with me. Now, maybe there are legit reasons for that, but it feels so personal, like they’re embarrassed to be seen with me.

I usually do not ask for company idly, especially if, as I suspect, it is an uncomfortable request, but company, in addition to being reassuring and emotionally necessary to some degree, has proved to be very useful. Whether it’s doing errands around the city or taking public transit, when I am by myself, I tend to be ignored, dismissed, or harassed. When I am with someone else, people treat me better, like a person who might be worth a modicum of dignity. I don’t know what phenomenon causes this, but I imagine that it’s because other people can see how the people I know interact with me and take cues from them.

I feel terrible saying I’m lonely and feeling isolated, especially with Philandros pressed up against my leg and Dea on the couch petting my hair. I had always hoped that someday, Dea would be the one to be at my side to help ease my anxieties but while I know she loves me, she’s seven years my junior and has her own life and her own crowd, and as much as I would like to present myself to her as a possibility for more than mere domestic stability, she’s already seeing someone and I feel so unworthy, for so many reasons.

Sometimes she is the reason I feel so alone.