I have tailored the word "uncomfortable" to fit my emotional baggage.
My annoyingly convenient Apple dictionary defines the word "uncomfortable" as "causing or feeling slight pain or physical discomfort."
I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am uncomfortable on a whole other level. I am literally un-comfort-able. Cannot be comforted. I've let this idea roll around in my head for a while, collecting thought-debris and question-wreckage for months and months.
I am not one to discuss my problems - privately or publicly. If I do, it's usually to Roxanne or Natalie on a long drive in my car listening to Fiona Apple or something equally menacing. Sometimes I put them to sleep, fuel their cigarette intake, get a "shut up I don't want to hear it," or on a more frequent occasion they will open their mouths and the most fruitful advice will just fall effortlessly into my lap. The kind of advice that is humbling and simple, while still being profound and exact. It'll even happen with MiMi sometimes. My brain is often so tangled that I lose my original complaint and just need someone who is emotionally unattached from the situation to spit in my eye and organize my ramblings.
Acquaintances and close friends often criticize me for rarely sharing my problems and spending too much time talking about them. But, little do they know, I prefer it that way. To them, I'm the average college student with stress and romantic issues. To me, I'm un-comfort-able. So far gone and stubborn that anything they say will seem utterly uninspired.
I admit, I do occasionally take a leap of faith or suffer a momentary laps of judgment and accidentally spill an issue to an acquaintance, a new love interest, or...my parents. And every time I am disappointed. A long pause followed by a muffled "yeah, that sucks." An awkward eye shift accompanied by a subtle yet noted subject change. A simple shrug, as if to motion to me that I'm overreacting and need to just let it roll off my back. If only they knew that the problem I am so inclined to share has most likely stayed with me for a reason - maybe they should look deeper. BUT maybe I'm asking too much? Maybe my problems ARE petty and ridiculous on the surface and the depth of psychological fucked up-ness that my issues reach are just unattainable without a tank of oxygen and scuba diving certification. My personal favorite reaction consists of silence and nothing else. They are depending on the situation to get SO awkward that I will be forced to laugh it off and change the subject.
And I wonder why I'm non-confrontational?! If I can't even suck up the awkwardness of confessions to friends merely for pressure release, how am I expected to confront the person who's causing the pressure in the first place?
How did I let it get this bad?
I also realized that those who are morning risers are always happy. What kind of miserable person is willing to face a blinding light of a fresh day? It's the drunks, divorcees and depressives that own the darkest hours of the day. Rightfully so - it's easier to avoid your problems if you can't see them.
All my life I thought I was a quitter. Ballet, tap, piano, theater, medicine, camp, figure skating, etc. etc.
I have now welcomed my fate as a malcontent. It's not that I quit just to quit - I'm just hard to please and frankly, if I'm not pleased, I'll leave. Not confrontationally though. I would never tell administration or bosses or parents that I was unhappy - I would make up an excuse. My mother taught me to make excuses from a young age. I'm a born con-artist.