a person skilled in ninjutsu.
informal – a person who excels in a particular skill or activity
I used to bristle when people would make any reference, no matter how remote, to me being a chatterbox. I still kinda do, but it’s getting better. It wasn’t all that difficult to figure out why i’m sensitive about it – i just had to intentionally wonder for a while. It’s amazing how much stuff gets clearer when i do such an odd thing, eh?
I was a child made for a purpose. I had roles to play and there were scripts to follow, but none of them involved any lines about what was actually happening to me. That was never spoken about, except in the vaguest of terms. They used my nature, my personality, my love of communication, for their own personal gain, but forced me to subjugate all those qualities in any case where it might have been a benefit to me, personally. So i could talk, and in fact i had to talk, but only about the things they wanted, and in the way they desired. There were also periods of strictly enforced silence. I had to speak a certain way in certain situations; sometimes meek, hyper-feminine and unctuous, sometimes precocious and worldly. The times i had to keep my mouth shut were easiest, because i didn’t have to go too far inside myself to get away.
However, when everything you’re told to do flies in the face of every instinct you have, and you’re required to say nothing when you need to scream, it fucks you up, and even the best facade will develop some cracks. Those cracks were most obvious at school. I blurted a lot. I would say strange things at inappropriate times. I was regularly called a spaz. Or i’d say something that was obviously intended to fit in with the cool kids. They’d roll their eyes at me, swatting me like the social mosquito i was. I was a know-it-all in elementary school during class, but the bullies and popular kids (who often fit both categories) had pretty much crushed my love of class time, much like they had any social aspirations i’d held, by the time i hit high school.
Once i graduated and got away from home and school, i tried hard to make friends. I ached for a place to fit in, but talked too much and bathed too seldom. Heh. When i got a chance to talk with someone and perhaps begin a friendship, i came on too strong. I was that guy that approaches you in the bar and you wouldn’t date him for anything because you can smell the desperation coming off him in noxious waves. I must have made one helluva double whammy. I tried too hard to impress. I wanted to be likeable, charming, smart, funny… All of it, all at once.
It took years of practise before i was able to dial it back enough to make some decent friends. Even then i wasn’t any good at sustained intimacy and commitment, whether sexual or platonic. Over time i became adept at acquiring friends, but terrible at keeping them. The closer they got, the more obvious it became that i was chatty, but not talkative. And the few i really talked to would leave. One that i loved and trusted very much even told me that i was full of shit. I didn’t tell anyone anything for years after that one.
I haven’t known what to do about my mouth. Do i talk more, or less? To whom? About what, when? I don’t trust my own judgment because when i finally disclosed my story, my closest girlfriend called me a liar and ended our friendship. I was pretty sure i knew how to have better, longer lasting friendships. By being someone else. It’s hard to be genuine when you’re still chipping away at the marble, not entirely sure what the figure will look like when you’re finished. So i withdrew.
I don’t want to be someone i’m not anymore, and i don’t quite know how to be me yet, so i went away. I went back to START with a brand new playing piece and 200 bucks.
*The title is firmly tongue-in-cheek, fellow nerds, so don’t go full Sheldon on me.
***** END of PART I *****