Her blogs are usually interesting and about things I can relate to but the one she wrote yesterday managed to stir up some feelings for me that run pretty deep. The story she published was about a woman who realised that she had "fuck off" tattooed across her forehead. Not literally, obviously, but everything about her - the way she dressed, the way she interacted with others, the way she felt around people and all the subliminal messages she sent out to those around her just screamed "fuck off".
It rang bells. Lots and lots of bells.
Before I even read the blog I was aware I sent out that message - sometimes I'm even proud of it. I'm not afraid to be disliked, but the thing the blog really pointed out to me is that apparently what I am afraid of is to be liked.
I can only assume this fear stems from high school. To my conscious knowledge I've never been abused in any way, but in high school I desperately wanted to be popular, and those who already were made it rather clear that it was not going to be happening.
I'm not here to complain about the experience - lets face it, teenagers are awful and they do some disgusting things. There are things I did back then that I could apologise a million times for and still not feel I had grovelled enough, but the fact is that those events and experiences I went though had an effect, and that effect was that eventually I just stopped caring about whether a person disliked me.
For me, the easy version of it is that if a person doesn't like me, that's fine - they're probably not worth knowing anyway. In reality, my brain races and obsesses about everything, but the outward appearance, or the company line, is that "I couldn't give a fuck if you don't like me".
I never really stopped to think that the other side of that coin was "I couldn't give a fuck if you like me".
In the past I've had friends tell me that before getting to know me they thought I was a total bitch. Prior to now I had never quite worked out why that was - I've always thought that I genuinely try to approach people in a friendly way. I thought that I was shy and a little socially awkward - not that everything about me is telling the other person I have zero interest in getting to know them.
I am a little shy, and I am a little socially awkward, but I also carry that tattoo which puts people off before they even get the chance to move past it. It's a defense mechanism to protect myself in case they don't like me.
To my knowledge, there is one thing that does let that defence down, and that is drinking. Once I've been out with a person, all that crap is gone and we're friends. Many times I've only integrated into groups once I've gone out into a social, lubricated environment and made a bit of a dick out of myself. Once that screen is down, people see that the 'fuck off' sign isn't real, and equally, when we're sober again in the morning I realise I don't need to put it up around them. A good example of this was Holly and Corrina's going away party - prior to the party I was semi-known at work but no-one really knew me. After it, I knew everyone and would happily stop to chat with every staff member who had attended.
Simply put, my tattoo had been removed around those people. They'd seen that it was a stick-on and they'd seen who I was underneath.
So, realising what the problem is, what is the net effect? Well, apart from a social life that centers around an online-medium (where people can't sense any of this) the biggest single issue would be my inability to meet guys. Actually, perhaps it's more fitting to say that I meet guys, but my scary "fuck off" persona makes them run for the hills.
Rachel's blog had a particular sentence that really struck home for me. It's this sentence that opened my eyes the most:
"I had been waiting for someone to fight their way through my defences, and thinking that if they didn’t they were not worth my time".
I have literally been waiting for the last 20 months for someone to do that.
In January last year I decided I was going to stop with the casual sex, stop with NZd and all it's crap and actually look for a nice guy. I'm not saying I'm against sex, or that I'm holding out for anything in particular, but I am looking for more than sex. I want some romance, dating and getting to know the other person - not just a casual shag I see every so often for a quick romp.
I've held out on that for the last 20 months. There have been guys in my life in that time - guys I met in clubs that I had no interest in going further with; guys I met in clubs or parties who I did, but who the "fuck off" tattoo drove away; guys I've met online; heck, I've even had a relationship-of-sorts in that time - but for the last 20 months I have been celibate because I want the next guy I sleep with to be someone I respect and who respects me too.
Unfortunately, I've let opportunities pass, I've met perfectly lovely guys and sent them packing because I've had the mentality that the "right" guy will fight past my shit to love me... which is just plain stupid now that I think about it.
In my head I want the movies. I want Heath Ledger to pursue me until he finally breaks down my defences (10 Things I Hate About You, A Knight's Tale). I want Nino to go on a quest to work out who I am, to talk to my friends and to keep turning up at my door until I finally have the guts to answer (Amelie). I want my Mr. Darcy to turn up and rescue me from my crap life and show me that everything will be OK because he will protect and provide for me (Pride & Prejudice, Bridget Jones and every other bloody adaptation). I want Richard Gere to fight his fears and prove once and for all that he really, truly loves the wretch he found on the side of the gutter (Pretty Woman)...
Hollywood has a lot to answer for.
Realistically, I have to meet a nice guy. I have to be interested and be friendly. I have to open up and attempt to make a connection. Perhaps I don't have to be the one doing the pursuing, but I can't send them packing and expect them to keep coming back for more punishment. Guys are people too and if someone treated me the way I treat some of them, I'd get the hint pretty fast and look elsewhere as well. It's a matter of changing my perspective and the way I relate to people. It's about realising I'm not happy with life the way it is, that yes, maybe it is my fault and that I'm the only one who can really make a difference here.
I've got to stop expecting that a guy is going to keep fighting for something I keep (unconsciously or consciously) telling him I don't want, and that he can't have.
That's a conclusion I've been slowly making for the last few months, but I have to thank Rachel and her friend for sharing the story because without it, I'd be missing a very important step in the process. I can change all I want, but until I erase that "fuck off" from my forehead, I'm not going to get anywhere I want to be.
If you want to read the blog that inspired this post, you can find it here.
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