Do you ever wonder if you’re irreparably damaged? That’s the question I was meaning to get to weeks ago when I wrote about John Mayer’s “Daughters.” (BTW, the video for this was quite disappointing to me – the song lends itself so well to a music video in story form, since the song is quite story-esque. Of course, so are most country music songs, and their videos don’t follow the lyrics either, as far as I can tell.)
I got to thinking, I wonder if I’m permanently damaged, at least in relation to men. All throughout high school, I was an unabashed male-basher. Why, I’m not quite sure. It couldn’t have been just that I wasn’t asked out on many dates. But my memory seems unable to pinpoint any incident(s) that would cause me to feel this way, and since I can’t perform hypno-therapy on myself, we’ll just have to leave it in the unknown.
High school and college saw me have lots of good guy friends (OK, well, “lots” is relative to the total number of friends I’d ever have at any one time, which, for me, is smaller than most people). I never did date much, though that didn’t mean my love life was uninteresting (as proven through posts on this site).
And though my parents’ divorce hit hard, both and I pulled through that and learned a lot about love and life, and for the positive.
So why is it that when I’m around guys my own age (or relatively so), whether or not I’m attracted to them, as long as they’re single, I feel like a 12-year-old girl? An awkward, gangly, braces-wearing, bad eighties hair, clumsy, unbrilliant 12-year-old. It’s not a giggly-cute-nervous deal. It’s actually quite… well, awkward sums it up pretty good.
I can’t seem to make eye contact with strangers, unless they’re providing a service like giving me my mocha or ringing up my groceries. I could blame that on my time spent on the reservation, since eye contact was not exactly encouraged there, or on my time spent in San Francisco, when eye contact on the street was avoided so you didn’t accidentally send someone the wrong message.
I have some body-image issues, I’ll admit, but those are entirely related to the media and what American culture has determined is “beautiful” for women these days. Some people, I’m sure, would like to beat me senseless for having body-image issues, but seriously folks, we all have our own demons, right?
What is it that is getting in the way of me but me? If I can’t pinpoint an exact moment, incident, or even an era that has caused me some sort of harm in this area, I can’t actually be damaged, right? In that case, I was just… messed up from the beginning. That doesn’t seem right.
If you know me, could you give me some insight please?