talking and being heard

I never got the point of talking it out.  It didn't make me feel better.  It made me feel worse.  People would say "talk about it, it'll make you feel better."  But it didn't, it just put things fresh in mind, triggered more emotion, and made me feel even smaller and more pathetic.

Until the last time.

I get it now.

I was never listened to.

I was never heard.

The two and half hour interview was more than a dry recounting of my life and my challenges as I see it. She heard me. She didn't try to lighten the mood, calm me down, explain things away, make excuses for the people in my stories, demonstrate how maybe I was overreacting, try to show me how to stop feeling bad about it or otherwise minimize, dismiss, or ignore my story.  She didn't patheticize me even while pointing out challenges I didn't realize weren't normal, or didn't even notice. She didn't try to console me but gave me space to calm myself.  At no point did she complain that it was too heavy or I was being hard on the people in my past.

She just listened to me. She not only listened, she wrote it down in my official record, with a sympathetic ear.  I don't know what it says or what others will read but it feels like maybe I'll be treated decently finally after all these years. What's more, the last two communications with the worker who has caused me so much grief were almost cordial.  I can't help wondering, did she get a copy of those notes? Is she feeling sorry for her actions towards me? That feels better, thinking maybe she is.  Maybe someone in this nasty world will treat me like an equal for a change.  I've seen people with lesser challenges than me get more help. often.

My mental state lately is tender at best.  I'm pretty much just clinging with cognitive therapies.  "no, it's okay, don't think about how you feel, spring will come."  "no, don't worry about tomorrow, it might not be that bad."  and so on.

I'm getting stupid bored of sitting around doing crafts.  I started some new ones, embroidery and now pin lace, but it all starts to feeling restless and laborious.  I just want some fun and I don't know how.  I can't afford the recreations offered by my city, if I could get out to and do them.  There's a lot of sports focus around here.  Or expensive arts.  Or very cold outdoor events where you stand around watching people do something.  I could go to the spinners guild but the social thing has me freaked out, they're all so old and straight.  Most of them are even christians.  Like church members.I can't fake myself and they don't like my real pot smoking pagan queer ass.

Hell, most of the city doesn't.  The queers in town don't like me for being trans, or for being too old or too young.  I can't even tie one on at the bar now that my stomach won't tolerate any alcohol at all.

So that's getting to me. No shopping therapy now I'm on welfare.  In fact I'm at the "no more spending" limit and it's only the middle of the month.  Yes, my credit card is growing again. No I don't know how to pay it. Yes I do daydream of windfalls like inheritance and lotteries.  No I don't think anything will save me.  Yes I do think I'll be homeless in a van by the time I'm 65. No I don't think it'll be okay with my medical needs. Yes this is one of the things I have to constantly not think about. 

I'm going to go crochet more lace. I think I can use it to make sleeves for a garment that didn't become a pocket vest for a bitch who was emotionally insincere and told me she'd buy it if I made one.

Oh, and I shut off Nadine and her wandering market.  Over the last couple years of financial hardship I noticed that I really only bought three things. Butter, meat, and maybe eggs, but not really because of the many times I got rotten eggs. I got whole dozens of them rotten. I got a whole bad case. It doesn't matter after the third time what they do to reparate, the idea that you'll have to test your eggs every damn morning before knowin they're safe to eat was too much.  I mean, if that's how the world was, fine, but it's not. I get free range brown eggs with deep yellow yolks from the co-op in town. The poultry quality is the only thing setting wandering market apart.  The butter wasn't special and was horribly packaged in massive bricks with soft plastic wrapping.  I even had one go bad because I couldn't use it up fast enough.

So anyway, I was still trying to patronize the wandering market because I thought I'd made friends.  It seemed like friendship at first. Lately it had cooled off but I put that down to people going through things. Until during an argument about whether or not dead rabbits should randomly show up in a person's feed, she not only dismissed my feelings but said she thought it was doing me a favour to cause me sorrow, and she was fine with hard feelings. So I thought, oh, ok, I've been here servicing a relationship, idling on hold while you go through stuff, being there if you want to talk, being patient if you don't, keeping my stuff to myself because you have things going on, and you're going to do me like that?

So I realized, she's being emotionally insincere, just like Vest Lady, because I was a good customer. Now that I'm not a good customer, the emotional insincerity is dropped and I'm nothing special.

It's having a strong effect on me mentally because I just keep running into this and I feel like the most unloveable person living. 

Elise came over. Kept getting steadily more agitated as she visited. Never complimented the decor or the cookies.  Wasn't anything of courtesy or manners from her at all, really.  The visit felt like a volunteer service from her, a reluctant one she regretted.  

I did find out Carrie is her roomie now, not her lover, and that in fact, as I suspected, Carrie does not like me. She used to?  

This is not unusual.  I make friends. They seem to like me. We seem to get along.  I feel very caring towards them.  I try to keep in touch, ask them how they're doing, listen when they need to talk, put a little time and effort their way, like help them move or clean or whatever, and try not to ask too much, without never asking anything.  Basically try and follow all the little rules I've read on how to be a good friend. And they cool off after a week, year or five years, and I don't know why. Or I start to realize they've just been using me and never giving back and I cool off.

Why the hell is this? What's so horrible about me? I haven't murdered or raped anyone and I don't steal, shit on the floor or eat their food without being offered. No, I don't ask for money or call them every day or send a million texts. Well I might be a bit much on the texts some days but I also can go several days silent. I'm pretty sure I'm normal.

Anyway, that shouldn't be enough excuse to ostracize a person and hate on them and abuse them and sideline them and judge them. 

i've never been worthy of this. Ireally am not. i really honestly think it's cruel and unfair and ignorant and hateful and I think they do it for surface reasons.  fear and ego and not real reasons.

At any rate, it's irrelevant, I'm still a pariah. and it bothers me most in the winter when I can't even go into stores and talk to strangers.