Always Wrong

“You got a problem with that?” he always says. At first, I thought he was just teasing me. But then it became so frequent, I wasn’t sure. Finally, I asked. “Why do you always say that?” I was hoping he’d say, “I’m just teasing you,” but instead he said, “Because you always sound like you have a problem with things.”

I don’t “have a problem” with much, and certainly not the things that prompt this commentary from him. Examples…

We’re discussing dinner plans and he’ll say, “I was thinking of making [xyz dish].” I’ll say, “Okay, sounds good,” and he’ll ask if I have a problem with it. In that challenging tone, like “I dare you to have a problem with it.” Umm no, I said sounds good, didn’t I?

We go to the café, I see their board, and I say, “Ah, their soup of the day is chicken poblano, looks like that’s what I’m having for lunch!” I haven’t had that one from them in a while, so I’m pretty pleased with the prospect. But he says, “You got a problem with chicken poblano?” … No! For fuck’s sake, NO, I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT!

Today, I asked my ex if I came across that way to him. I didn’t tell him what prompted the question, though I’m sure he can guess. I asked him because I knew I’d get an honest answer, but I truly expected the answer to be, “No, what kind of nutjob is saying that to you?” Instead, he said, “Not always, but often, yes.”

…

So.

Even when I’m genuinely great with something, and say so, I come across as complaining? So like, no matter what I fucking say or feel or do or think … it’s wrong.

I’m wrong.

–

I had been staying over at his house a lot and was feeling bad about using stuff there, knowing he doesn’t have much money, like me. So next time I was at the store, I picked up an extra package of toilet paper. The same kind I usually get myself, two-ply store-brand. He usually gets the same brand, except one-ply. When I brought it to his place, hoping to pitch in and be helpful, I was met with the comment, “Oh, your ass is so special it needs the fancy stuff?” No, but since you mention it, the stuff you have rubs me raw; I’m female, my needs are different, I wanted to say. Instead, I said something like, “No, sorry, I was just trying to be helpful.”

We were discussing store hours one afternoon recently, commenting on how they roll up the sidewalks at 5 pm, which is too bad because we’d really like to be able to look around downtown after that, especially visiting our favourite café. I thought we were both on the same page, but I’m hyper-cognizant of being “too negative,” so I said something like, “Sorry, I’m complaining a lot today.” He replied, “Today?” It’s okay for him to express the same opinions and criticisms, but not for me.

He said early on he was attracted to my intelligence, but then I started to feel like that became something he disliked. I started to feel like I’m not allowed to have an opinion; I should just smile and nod and act vapid. One day, I was so depressed and afraid of saying the wrong thing, I was very quiet. He got annoyed with that and told me to talk, say anything. Why would I, when it’s just going to be wrong?

I also feel like he’s laughing at me a lot, like he’s mocking me and condescending to me. The other day, we were standing in line at the store, and he glances at me, then smiles and says, “You’re funny.” Er, why? What’d I do? “Nothing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. It felt like he was saying, “You wouldn’t get it anyway.” Other times, he says, “You’re cute,” after I say something, or sometimes when I’m just sitting there. The words are nice but the context makes me feel like it’s a pat-on-the-head, especially if it’s after I say something. In the beginning, he acted impressed with my knowledge of various topics, or interested in my opinions. Now, I think that was just an act. In reality, he doesn’t respect me or my opinions at all.

He’s said and done a lot of other things that are pretty disrespectful of women, and I’ve come to think he’s misogynistic. He said he used to be an asshole and has learned to be more considerate and such, but I wonder if it’s more accurate to say he’s still an asshole on the inside, he just learned how to hide it better, at least temporarily.

It has me constantly questioning how much is him being an asshole and how much of it is a legitimate mirror showing my flaws. I wish I had more friends I could get feedback from, to get a more objective perspective. Maybe the fact that I have so few is enough of a sign that I’m unlikable…

–

When did life get this fucking complicated?

I’ve been thinking lately about my adolescence and young adulthood. It felt like an age of innocence. Were we all really more innocent then, or was I just especially oblivious?

I remember standing in line for lunch, zoning out, thinking about my day or whatever, and being asked what was wrong. Later, I learned I probably had “resting b*tch face.” People would tell me to “smile more,” said I was too intense or grumpy.

But then I also remember people teasing me for smiling too much, like I was silly or stupid. One time just a few years ago, someone I’d been chatting with online said he was surprised I was from the northeast, as he’d have pegged me for a Southern California girl because I was always so cheerful and easy-going.

I’ve been told, “If I had to describe my first impression of you in one word, it would be ‘nervous’.” (Around that same time, someone else said the same thing except the word was ‘genuine’.) Years later, after I’d gone through some confidence-building experiences, I was told I exuded confidence and stood in a “power stance,” and the person could easily see me giving a TED Talk. But a couple months later is when I met my boyfriend, who thinks I’m overly critical and snobby, and would probably say I’m uppity or a know-it-all.

–

What do you do with so many mixed messages? When how you feel inside is apparently not being translated to the outside AT ALL? When everything you say and do and think and feel seems to be wrong?

I very much feel like saying “fuck it.” I spent the last hour crying and wondering if I could return to the Exit plan. There are logistics to consider (though more than one person has said, “Who cares? You’d be dead.”), and honestly, I’m terrified of the process itself.

I wish I could talk to someone about this. But what good would it do? They couldn’t help, even if they wanted to. They can’t change how fucked up I am, they can’t suddenly make me acceptable and normal and good. All that kind of conversation would do is bring that person down.

I never feel as alone as I do when I’m depressed.

Since I can’t talk to anyone about it, can’t change it, and probably can’t Exit anytime soon, all I can think to do is disappear as much as possible without actually Exiting. Withdraw, isolate, spare the world my horrible presence. Get rid of all my crap, sell as much as I can so I can pay off my debt and not need this job I can’t even do anyway, and just hide in my apartment and stare at the wall all day until my natural Exit finally comes.