By Diana's blog | August 09, 2015 at 03:20 PM EDT | No Comments
Today I am very pissed off. It started with Facebook. I am so very sick and tired of looking at it and seeing the happiness and utter joy experienced by everyone else while I sit here frustrated by life's annoyances big and small. So why don't you stop looking at it? I ask myself. For the same reason I obsessively check a zit on my face that I hope is disappearing but seems to exponentially grow bigger each time I check. I don't know. I must have a master's degree in self torment. I'm working on a doctorate in self deprecation in order to prepare for my career as a professor in the instruction of self worthlessness. OK, that's a little much, but you get the picture.
I recently went back to visit Texas, where I used to live. I went on a work related project but also stayed with a friend and got to see a bunch more. It struck me before I went down how many people from work I felt comfortable reaching out to but how relatively few friends I felt comfortable contacting. I felt suddenly shy and uncomfortable when I thought about who I would want to see in the evenings. I felt like I would be bothering people who would or would not put on a show of being glad to spend an evening with me. Ultimately, I contacted very few people and spent my free hours in the company of my special love, Chicos. Yes, I am a Chicos gal who loves the "funky old lady" style, forgiving waist bands, ridiculous sizing scheme and the feeling that with my Chicos Passport card, I can go anywhere in the world and come out looking like Bea Authur's character Maude.
Anyway, I guess it makes sense that Facebook pisses me off way more than Linked In. With Facebook the fake happiness is based on your personal life where there are no rules. Anyone in any category, social strata, age, grouping, etc. can claim they are having a euphoric existence of their own making on Facebook. Whether it's being a Dungeons and Dragons Master Princess (if that's a thing?) or a perfect mother, or the very bestest friend on the planet, or a LGBTQ warrior or a master pet authority or the most sympathetic friend to someone experiencing cancer/homelessness/divorce/empty nest syndrome/hemoroids, etc. you can craft yourself into a whirlwind of perfection.
I can't do that. I can't fake things very well. Even if I look nice in an outfit, I feel compelled to tell someone that it's really the Spanx that makes me look good. I can't fake being happy about something. I can't brag about my children because I realize that its lying to only share the good and not the bad. I feel it's no one's business to know the bad because it violates their privacy. I am a terrible liar. I cannot play poker with you. Not even video poker in a casino.
I'm not saying this is a good quality. It's not a moral choice. It's just how I am wired. I would prefer the option to be duplicitious. It's just not an option. I can't pull it off. I would prefer to tell smallish lies and get away with them, but I'm not good enough at lying. Maybe that's what makes me so pissed off.
In any case, I thought I would return to my blog since many people have recently asked me to and I felt flattered enough to do it. So, if I can take a flattering selfie, you may see me on Facebook pretending to be having the best time ever, but you will be able to tell that I am not really.