Actually, all reasons sound like excuses, and people hate to hear excuses. And I hate trying to make them. More often than not, I find myself in the role of The Fixer. It's something I like to give my energy to. I like how it feels to watch something knit together and then step back from the result and admire the finished project. Call it the Man Gene--I quite like thinking of myself that way.
But myself, ah, well...that's another story. Can I fix myself? What I hate is making progress and then sliding backwards from the progress. I hate thinking that I'm stringing people along with all my planning and good intentions, only to flop onto my face and let everyone down.
Because here's the deal, I feel more relief than sadness that Match Girl (I) has dropped off the radar (or dropped me off her radar). I wouldn't be surprised if the self-proective little gnome that lives in my subconscious didn't dump my geekiness on her to chase her away.
If I really ... and I mean REALLY wanted to be with someone, wouldn't I already be with someone? I mean, you guys are not stupid or blind--you see qualities in me that I can believe I do have. Some think I'm handsome, and I think that may be true. Others think I have a good career and a good mind, and again, I have to admit that I feel grateful for both. My life could have been so much worse, given the mess that it came from.
So why am I not turning this fantastic little man that I am into someone's fantastic little boyufriend?
What excuse can I offer? None. But there are reasons.
I'm not going to list those reasons, however, and I've done so numerous times anyway. But I just want to blog out this process as its happening--the ins and outs of my Becoming Another Somebody.
Thinking about taking on the interpersonal challenges of another human is scary, and has, to date, pushed me out of the running. I get waves of energy to try again--I get them from you guys, and I get them from society. And if there was a way to exist on the same planet you guys do, and remain free from the need to fit onto it--I would do what I want to do, and not what I feel like I should do.
Which leads me to think again about the possibility that something's not quite cricket in my head. I've toyed with the idea that I have autism. I've also played with the idea of having bipolar disorder. Then I've also told myself that I'm a normal guy who got handed a sh!t sandwich way way ago which derailed my chances for a normal life. All those might but true, or any calculaic combination of the three.
But the facts remain as they are right now. I'm not dating. It feels better not to than to. I feel safer without it. Safety is more important to me than love. Sucks that my mind frames it that way, but that's the equipment I'm working with. For some, love equals safety. Not for me. For me it equals risk and vulnerability and fear. Horrible ways to live.
So I'd rather not, thank you all the same.
That's not the end of the story. I have two friends, one very close in geography and one far away, who have shared with me the efficacy of anxiety medication. These medications I am very familiar with, since in my career I assist people with getting hold of these meds and I have seen what happens when they went off them. I believe in meds.
So why have I never tried to take some for myself? Stigma! Do I want to be a therapist who is on psych meds?
Please. Get over yourself, Alan.
What looks worse, crawling around on the ground ignoring the cane, or walking around using the cane? Either way, my leg's still broken. Gotta do something about it.
This ain't easy.