Being More Vocal

Well, I just posted at the Hope Is Kindled blog, saying that I've been talking more over here. So I'd better start talking, right? I'm actually typing this up in the wee, small hours of the morning, and we'll see if I post it in the light of day.

(pre-publish edit: I'm posting it. We'll see if I delete it later.)

Part of the reason that I rarely posted here in the past -- and wasn't terribly talkative on any of the Shieldmaiden boards, either -- has been that I've spent most of my life trying to fit in, be liked, and not piss people off. I'm getting increasingly sick of those past-times, and the gloves are coming off. (I might knit myself mittens instead. We'll have to see how that goes.) Many of my opinions and positions (notably political and religious) are, or certainly seem like, minority opinions when I'm with the Shieldmaidens, or my family, or my co-workers, or classmates, or just about any gorram place in my life. Since I do not seek out or enjoy conflict, my answer to that has been to keep my mouth shut and try to stay out of any lines of fire.

Shockingly (or, you know, not), this has led to me feeling very isolated and ... not exactly misunderstood, but not understood either. I'm tired of it -- feeling like that. I can't really be more outspoken with my family; I need to keep living with my mother. Can't piss her off so badly that she throws me out. And if she ever got that mad, my sister would probably already have tried to kill me or have me exorcised or something (and she's not even Catholic), so moving in with her would be right out. I'm not able to support myself right now, and I don't expect that to change. Hoped for years that it would, but things have been getting worse instead. Since the pneumonia, even if I magically got my head fixed up, I physically wouldn't be able to hack it on my own.

I could try to be more myself at work, but no one would notice -- they're a pretty oblivious lot. I say this with confidence because I've been speaking my piece more and more over the past year, and it hasn't really made any impression at all. Part of that, probably a large part, has to do with the extremely high turnover rate. Another large contributer is that I'm stuck in the office, by myself, and only get to talk to customers who come to the window. They don't really care what I say as long as I get them processed quickly and with some level of professional courtesy. And really, it would be incredibly unfair to target random strangers with my accumulated frustration. Classmates? All of my classes are online this semester; that's a no go as well. So my blog readers are elected. Don't you feel lucky?

You may notice that I left the Shieldmaiden boards out of that list of explanations. I think that's one of the places that I feel most isolated, really. People in my "real life" who know about the Shieldmaidens think that it's this huge group of women that I'm really good friends with. But I don't know if that's actually true. I've never really been willing to put enough of myself out there for people to know me, and if they don't know me, how can we be good friends? Friendly, sure. Even friends. But good friends? And yet I've been part of the group for nearly 6 years. It seems a little late to be introducing myself around.

I tried to talk this through with a close friend once, and she insisted that the group does know me, because just being around for so long makes it impossible for others not to see who I really am. Maybe she's right. But if she is, then lately some people have decided to try to determine exactly how pissed I need to be before I explode. (If you're wondering if I'm talking about you ... I'm not. I have spoken and/or e-mailed directly to the people involved. If you're not sure, clearly you're not them.)

Possibly my friend is entirely correct. The Shieldmaidens do know me. Maybe it's just that I'm feeling the need to reinvent myself, and they don't know who I want to become. Maybe it's one of those post-near-death reevaluations or something. Except the pneumonia wasn't really near-death. Hell of a lot closer than I wanted to be, but probably not really Near, given modern medicine and all. And if this is a reaction to that ... well, it's really belated. And yet the frustration has been building for a while. Who knows?

No, seriously, who? 'Cause clearly I don't. Someone must.

This whole post could probably be condensed into something like "General angst and stream of consciousness rambling. No resolution." And I don't even know what sort of resolution I would choose, if it were some sort of multiple choice exam. Future posts may have a lot more in common with this one than with other stuff I've posted in the past. Well, except for the knitting. That will stick around. It may even be an indirect cause. You see, I've posted and commented in a few knit-related places that link back to this blog. And I'm not interested joining another community just to feel stifled in exactly the same way. You might want to be careful -- I'm getting more outspoken just as I've started carrying pointy sticks (and yarn) around with me wherever I go.