hermit crab

I just read a blog post about a woman who has chosen to live a life of solitude and prayer. She’s an unapologetic hermit. She realizes how society in general views someone like her, noting it could be misconstrued as selfishness. But she is living her life exactly how she wants to live it–and for that reason I am envious of her. I am also envious because I have come to realize things about myself lately, such as how I have social anxiety that prevents me from interacting with people even if I want to. I have little to no interest in making friends in Vermont. The one friend I have made was someone my brother pushed me to be friends with, and she has turned out to be fairly unreliable. And rather than put effort into meeting new people at random, I choose to live a solitary life right now. I believe this has been determined by several factors, the first being that the people I interact with during work  hours are the people I live with, other parents and other small children. I have no desire to spend extra time with these people. We have little in common, and generally I feel I have to remain guarded when around them because they could very well relate a slip up of mine to Megan. Another part of it is that I am constantly around people in this house. Solitude is a gift here. I look forward to tomorrow, when the family will be in Montreal at the zoo all day. I feel as if I can breathe and relax when nobody is home. When I lived in LA and SC over the past two years, I lived with people, but never felt as if they gave a shit as to what I did on my own time. They cared about me, but if I wanted to spend an entire weekend getting high and watching movies in my pajamas, then there was no judgement or blame. When you’re in your early twenties, stupid shit is expected of you. I felt I could describe my weekends of antisocial behavior to my roommate or friends, and they would giggle along with me or say, “yeah, sometimes you just need a weekend like that.” But here, there is nothing of the sort. I can’t complain about my job to my roommates, because I work at home and live with the bosses. I can’t smoke pot in my room all weekend because there are young kids in the house and it’s not my house. I can’t live separately from my place of work, and I believe that is what is most frustrating of all. There is no separation of work and home, therefore there is no boundary crossed at 5pm that gives me permission to relax and say, “I’m done with work now.” Work and personal life intersect so many times each day that even at 11pm on a Saturday night, I’m worried about Megan walking into my room and commenting on how messy it is. Or confronting me about something I did wrong today that I wasn’t aware was wrong in the first place. Or asking me to do her a favor, or run an errand tomorrow, or something that puts her in a place of power and/or judgement and me in a subservient place. And I do it everytime. Because what else do I have to do at 11pm on a Saturday night in Vermont, really? Nothing. I don’t go to bars because I’m trying to save money. I drink at home instead. Plus, I really don’t enjoy going to bars alone, without the faintest chance of running into someone I know. I don’t need to look like more of a loner. I already saw two movies at the theater today.

Thing is, when I’m in a comfortable place, really in my comfort zone, it is then that I will seek out social situations. I stayed in so much when I lived in LA. I went out all the time in SC. Levels of comfort. I look forward to living in LA again because I know I will have people to be social with on a continual basis, and the possibility of a job that I am sure I can do, with people I have worked well with before. Social life is truly a consideration in my moving choices right now. Sure, it’s great proving to myself time and again that I can survive and kick ass in new cities and locales, but it is truly exhausting–mentally, emotionally and physically. Sometimes I wonder if the reason why I can always manage a 12+ hour night of sleep on weekends is because I spend so much time thinking and analyzing people, situations and myself. It’s exhausting subjecting yourself to that much analysis on top of ALWAYS wondering if you are unconsciously screwing up, and won’t know it until a week later when Megan flips her shit yet again. And so I tiptoe constantly, and in doing so I realize I am putting up barriers between myself and my family here. I strive to do exactly as I am asked, even if I am not asked, and refrain from saying anything controversial, bitchy, cynical, or critical. Basically I withold myself from my brother and sister-in-law. Because I never know when I’ll be blindsided by a wave of criticism. And I don’t feel it is my place to criticize them because they are the employer and I am the employee. I need this money each week to pay for a new place and to get on my feet in LA. So we become distant. Notes are left with vague instructions, I make small talk, we watch tv together and eat Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Compliments are not given unless it’s for a dinner I make; hence, it is the one thing I do here that I have had confidence in. It is the one thing I can do better than her. I hate that I need and crave her and Mike’s approval for the most mundane, trivial shit–but these are people who truly do not understand me. Mike has always had issues with my mom (his stepmom) because they are polar opposites as he is cold and emotionless, and my mother is warm and wears her heart on her sleeve. I take after my mother, though I like to add I have a bit tougher skin and a cynic within me that she lacks. But still, I can be easily hurt just like her. I can be hurt repeatedly and still not raise a fuss. I am sensitive, emotional, and I need to talk out everything that goes on with me psychologically. I need to process events, traumas, and emotions out loud. I usually do this with my friends, my mom, my aunts, uncles, grandma…and roommates. As I type, I realize that I have never been able to process along with Mike. He doesn’t discuss anything emotional about himself. Neither does Megan, but on the rare occasion she does, it is not with me. Mike and I always got along because we never had to talk about anything. I don’t see why we should be any different now. We’ve always peacefully cohabitated without much interaction between the two of us. God, what a stranger he is. I’ve always told the kids, “You don’t have to like your family, but you have to love them.” I love my brother to death. But it is really hard to like him sometimes. Same goes for Megan. My life here is one of solitude because I am constantly inside my head trying to process these events and emotions. Nobody else could possibly catch a glimpse of my life and see how hard it has been without knowing this massive amount of backstory and context and honestly, it’s exhausting thinking about it. I hardly want to unload this heap of emotional crap onto a person who doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t have time to hear it out, or isn’t being paid to care. I don’t want to spend the time qualifying and explaining my feelings and stances to anyone else. I just want someone to listen. And it’s difficult finding someone who will just sit and listen. This is why I spend a good hour and a half each week on the phone with certain friends and family members, because they are my people. The lack of judgement, the understanding of who I am and how I operate, the soothing words and helpful questions–they allow me to release, clear my mind, and be temporarily unburdened. I know they will keep me in their thoughts, and I will reciprocate and be their person too. I have no people in Vermont so far. I haven’t entirely written off the people here, but I am losing hope in finding one of my people in this state. Until then, I will be my hermit self. And my people in all my different cities will not place one bit of blame on me for doing so.