Why bother?

If you’ve never had to come up with things to put in a dating profile, I envy you immensely.

If you have, then you feel my pain. Probably acutely, unless you’re one of those people who can talk about themselves without succumbing immediately to a fit of Imposter Syndrome so violent it could fell an elephant at 100 yards.

Let’s just say that I’m an imaginary trophy hunter on this one, okay? Okay.

Dating is just interviewing for a job, really. I am not the first, nor will I be the last, to draw this conclusion. You want to make yourself presentable, likeable, and knowledgeable of the subject matter, though in this case it’s less C++ and Python and more emotional health and wellbeing, mutual interests, and the ability to get rid of spiders. (I can get rid of my own spiders, BTW, but apparently this is pretty high up on a decent portion of the female population’s Want-In-A-Partner list...or at least the male contingent seems to think so.) In any case, one always has to read a dating profile with a pinch of salt, because it’s likely that certain attributes that the person in question is claiming to possess aren’t quite as stellar as they would have you believe.

No, I’m not saying that people flat-out lie as a matter of course. Some do, sure, but most people just play up certain things about themselves in order to be a little more appealing to their desired type of partner. It’s not necessarily a bad thing in small doses.

Of course, then there’s me.

Now, I need you to understand that I’m not my own biggest fan for various and sundry reasons, and there is nothing like trying to meet people (for any reason, be it social or romantic) that makes me want to move out of my own head and into the nearest available coma. I’ve had a lifetime of practice for downplaying my accomplishments, demurring in the face of compliments, and self deprecating like a fucking champ. I am aware that these are not technically good life skills, and I am painfully aware that they make describing myself in any capacity nigh on impossible. (My therapist will corroborate this fact. Her: “How would you describe yourself?” Me: ::stares blankly:: Her: “Okay, how would other people describe you?” Me: “Um… … …?” Her: ::headdesk::) It is especially difficult to come up with things to say about myself to perfect strangers that don’t make me (to my own completely skewed ears) sound cocky, full of myself, or just plain assholeish.

I can’t even commit to, “Some people think I’m funny, I guess?”

Nope, can’t do it. Because I’m probably wrong. You all just sort of tolerate me, right? I’m that rando who isn’t exactly awful, but isn’t exactly great either. Fine, but only in a crowd. Definitely not your first draft pick. “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I’ll go eat worms, except then I’d be imposing on the worms. Sorry, worms, I won’t take up your valuable time doing important worm stuff, I’ll just be over here out of the way.”

This is what it’s like to live in my head sometimes. Most of the time. Okay, all the time, with interludes of slightly-less-awful. I wind myself up, get mad at myself for winding myself up, wind myself up for getting mad at myself for winding myself up...it’s invasive. SO WHY DO I KEEP TRYING TO BREAK THE CYCLE, THEREBY STARTING THE CYCLE ALL OVER AGAIN?! Beats me, it really does. It makes no sense. “I’m bad at people, let me try to be good at people!” And then I go try to be good at people and end up sliding back into the pit because obviously all other people are either too good for me or absolutely terrible and there is no middle ground (per my invariably fucked up brain) so I’m back where I started. Again.

Props to you if you’re still following this logic, because I think at this point I’ve lost myself.

Let me try the simple version.

1. Elizabeth is bad at people because she has been conditioned to believe that she has no intrinsic value.
2. Elizabeth wants to be better at people, so she tries.
3. Trying makes Elizabeth feel worse because it feels like the universe is just driving home #1 above.
4. Elizabeth feels dejected and lonely and just generally awful.
5. Repeat.

You’d think I’d learn to stop trying. Apparently my humanity is preventing that. We’re not meant to be isolated. As much as I really do love doing a lot of things alone and having time alone, there’s still a hole.

I wonder if I can fill it with more rats.