I just figured out the name for something that I have known for most of my life, but have never been able to articulate. It explains (for my own satisfaction) a lot of the neurotic, depressing things I do. Essentially, what I realized is that I like to be heard.
One of the worst feelings I've ever had is the feeling that I'm talking, but nobody's listening. It happens to everyone sometimes-- there's the group of people, and Person #1 has just begun talking when the pet bird goes up in flames and distracts everyone, or something. And that's fine.
But say Person #1 is talking, and Person #2 suddenly remembers something HILARIOUS that came up during the day, and starts explaining it while Person #1 is still talking. And no one seems to mind.
Or perhaps Person #1 is talking, but Person #3 disagrees with him. Person #3 is important, meaning that he holds some position of authority, or some academic degree, or some quality that causes people to regard him as especially spiritual. Or maybe he's just the sort who commands a lot of attention. And so no one dares defend the argument Person #1 is making, or even suggest that it be given equal consideration.
Growing up, I often seemed to be at or near the tail end of the priority scale. It was fairly likely I'd be heard if I was one of two people. But bigger groups meant I would just sort of be there, no matter how hard I tried. I was too young, or too silly, or I didn't like the right things, or I was already an outsider because I was the newest one there.
Three was decidedly the worst number, because the other two people would pair off, and that left me alone, but without an excuse to leave.
So I focused on friendly adults, or younger kids, who seemed a little more willing to hear me. Eventually I tried something new-- I talked loudly, and occasionally even interrupted, to compete with dominant personalities. That didn't work.
If I tried to contribute, but no one responded, I would become frustrated and angry, which scared me. I had no idea what to do with those feelings. So I avoided them. I turned them into cynicism. When I believed people were not giving me so much as a toehold on their attention, I used my favorite strategy: I stopped trying. It didn't matter whether I looked silly, or disrespectful, or asocial, if the people who saw me that way were people who would never have cared much about me anyway.
I think these feelings, and the ways I have dealt with them, are the source of a lot of my habits and ideas. I tend to embrace a sense of isolation and independence, because at times it seemed those things were my best buddies. They replaced the feeling that I just didn't belong. My basic line of reasoning: if someone won't give me his attention, why should I bend over backward getting it?
As far back as I can remember, people do not interest me by merit of being popular or respected-- although I do not reject them because of it-- rather, they earn my respect by showing that they are willing to genuinely listen to people like me. I distrust the people who are important to me, afraid that their devotion to people they don't even know will surpass devotion to their own families and friends.
I feel trapped in the obligation to impress certain people, to profess sentiments that do not belong to me. Every once in a while, I want to say something highly offensive, just to see how many people would notice. I'm unnaturally drawn to what is forbidden or ignored.
The fascination with breaking away from the confines of society extends to a number of my interests, and to the way I usually do friendships, and it has seriously colored my thoughts about what is "romantic". For example,
"Just one more round before we're through / More psychedelic yuppie flu [i.e., alcohol] / It's such a silly thing to do / Now we're stuck on rewind [...] Let's follow the cops back home / And rob their houses" --Placebo
"Can we get away / Far away / Let's leave this place / Will you come with me / Are you down / To turn your world around [...] Get in my rocketship / We'll leave the light of day / Staying on the turning away" --Shiny Toy Guns
"I want to take you far / From the cynics of this town / And kiss you on the mouth / We'll cut our bodies free / From the tethers of this scene / Start a brand new colony" --The Postal Service
"While the rest of the girls are drowning in roses and songs he composes / And while the rest of the guys are all trying, trying so hard / Oh girl, let's crash the party / El Dorado on the lawn / Let's burn holes in the carpets / Kicking, shouting, dancing on the tables all night long" --Ok Go
(Returning to practical things.) When thrown a curve ball in the form of a good friend who unexpectedly stops listening, I find myself talking MORE, jabbering in hopes of regaining that attention. The longer it goes on, the shallower and less sincere my talking gets. Sometimes the difficulty in self-disclosing is not "Will you still accept me after I tell you this?" but "Do you really even care to know?"
When I feel listened to, I end up talking relatively less-- no need for it. And I end up taking chances, involving myself in other people's lives. For instance, because I feel important to God, I'm a much better person when I've been talking with him frequently. I'm able to let down my defensiveness and look at the big picture. And joining a small mentoring group, where I actually feel like an equal, was a fantastic move for me.
And all of this is convincing me that I really need to work on my own listening, and be available to other people, because this is a
big deal. It affects everything. To know that someone cares to know me is to know that I matter, and if I matter as a person, then my choices matter, too.
