If you’ve met me in real life then you know that I’m almost always smiling.
I’m a happy person and I love to make the people around me feel the same kind of joie-de-vivre that I generally have about my life.
I’m a very emotional person, in a sense. When I feel something, I really feel it – it’s almost a whole body experience.
As wonderful as that can be, it’s a double-edged sword.
On the flip-side of feeling so invigorated and excited by the small things in life, it’s amazingly easy for me to feel hurt and anxious.
I’m not a feelings kind of person. I prefer to keep that kind of stuff to myself, or share it only with very few, very select people – and even then, I tend to censor myself. I don’t like to put myself out there. I prefer to pretend that I’m always happy, that things don’t bother me and that most things don’t even faze me.
Generally this isn’t a problem. Until you make me happy and add a little wine. Then we have a problem.
When I’m happy I like to talk and when I’m happy and I’m drunk (and I’m almost always a happy drunk) I talk without a filter.
Put me on the phone with B for 2 1/2 hours with a bottle of wine while I’m getting ready to go out with my girlfriends and, well, we’ve got trouble.
All of those things that I think and I feel and I never want to talk about? They all come out under the right circumstances. B, wine and feeling good? Those are the right circumstances.
It feels good at the time, putting it all out there and having it reciprocated.
The problem with putting it all out there is that it makes me feel really vulnerable.
I feel completely exposed and I can’t do anything about it but feel embarrassed.
Not that it changes even a single word of what I may, or may not, have said – I just wish I’d kept it to myself. I guess.
The problem with putting it all out there and being honest is that it’s actually out there. Somebody else knows.
Now I’m dealing with the aftermath.
Not that anything has actually changed.. I think.
The aftermath is the insecurity. The anxiety. The fuck-did-I-screw-this-up? The why-couldn’t-I-shut-my-damn-mouth.
I wish I would have just shut my damn mouth.
The sad thing is that it made me feel so anxious and so embarrassed that I actually apologized – not for the feelings, but for the conversation. Why? It wasn’t a one sided conversation by any means. We definitely both partook in the conversation and the exchange of feelings. So why is this so damn hard? There may have been wine involved but it was one of those conversations that you remember every single word of. I don’t know if that makes it easier or if it makes it harder. I’m undecided.
On one hand, I don’t have to worry about saying something that I don’t remember, on the other hand, I’m cringing over every single word that came out of my mouth.
I wish talking about my feelings didn’t make me want to hurl.
I really wish I could go more into this and talk about how I’m frustrated with myself and the situation. But I can’t.
Someone might read it.
And all of a sudden I’m back to being vague and talking about nothing and censoring myself – and the whole point of a new blog and a new start was so I wouldn’t do that shit.
**On the off-chance that Ryan, from the bar on the night of said conversation, stumbles upon and reads my blog: I apologize for calling you B all night and for reciting my conversation with him to you. All night. And for telling you I was going to marry him one day. All night.**