Rejection

There are all types of rejection. As an author. As a job applicant. As a person.

I  gather plenty as an author. It stops bothering you so much after a while. It still stings a little. I know I need to work on the title in question, which I’m doing. I accept my part.

As a job applicant–I haven’t applied for any jobs yet. I tried to take the typing test last night for the actual certificate and there were computer issues. Of course. I should do that today. My hands are cold, which slows me down. I’ve been practicing and it honestly doesn’t seem to be making any difference, so I decided I might as well just go for it and hope one of the three (I get to take three ten minute tests and choose the best score) is over 60.

The one I have the hardest time with, and don’t know if I’ll ever get used to (it was suggested that I develop a ‘thicker skin,’ but somehow I’m not sure if that will happen) is being rejected by people. Even people I don’t know well but genuinely want to be friends with. I probably come across as, well, crazy and too intense. When I feel passionately about something, I do get intense. If I feel a connection with someone, especially if its something we share, or just the weird sense that I should be friends with that person for some reason (which, yes, really does sound crazy) it’s hard to take rejection. It reminds me why I don’t have many close friends, because I hate the hurt of rejection. I’m seen as a loopy weirdo because the person doesn’t know me–well, I suppose I shouldn’t discount the fact that the person might think I was a loopy weirdo even if they did know me. I tried to do something of the sort recently and finally just let it drop, and then it struck me later that I really did feel rejected by it. Which, when you look at it objectively, is truly insane. This is a person I didn’t know but wanted to, genuinely, as a friend.

Frank says I’m the most extroverted introvert he knows. I asked him what he meant. He said I’ll talk to people in public, try to make people laugh or cheer people up–don’t have a problem doing that with complete strangers, but once I’m home, trying to get me out again is almost impossible. And that’s true. Once I’m home, especially once it’s dark, I tend to barnacle myself back into my little corner where my computer is or in my chair is and either read or write. I’m fine if he wants to go out, but chances are I’ll stay home. I’m not sure exactly why–if it’s learned behavior from when I had panic attacks or what. I haven’t had a full blown panic attack in over twenty years, but I’ve been much more anxious and have been taking extra medication because right now I’m doing a lot of things out of  my comfort zone. All of these meetings, going to places for Voc Rehab are things I’m not used to–possibly because I have to take the initiative by having to find somewhere I’ve never been before, find the place (I get lost a lot when I’m driving to new places), and then go in and babble until I can manage to string together something coherent that will get me pointed in the right direction.

I try not to be too extroverted at work, well, when I did work, because most of my co-workers didn’t get my sense of humor–and there was one woman who was like the Pig Pen of despair and doom; that really drove me crazy. I mean, I’m the one with all the problematic mental illness for the classroom, yet I was still one of the most cheerful people there, at least at the beginning before they decided to fix me with a ‘plan of assistance.’ I have to confess that I’m a little curious what that would have looked like. And what hospital would the brain transplant be at? And after the brain transplant, does that mean I might be treated a little more humanely? <g> Being rejected by someone who hasn’t made it a secret that they dislike you isn’t so bad, it’s all the stabbing in the back I don’t care for. That’s not to say everyone was bad–there was one woman in my last classroom I liked very much, and hey, little S., I hope things are going well with you and everything’s getting straightened out. You rock, little dude!

What truly bugged me was that I wanted to explain why I had the slow processing, etc, and I debated whether I should say anything. I didn’t want anyone thinking it was because it was out of disrespect or deliberately ignoring them, so I finally decided to explain a little, and it was a little like talking to Stepford Wives bobble-heads. That rejection didn’t hurt so much as make me angry. It reminded me of something one of the students would say when he didn’t want to work: “OK, bye bye, see ya.” I’d been dismissed by my own co-workers (except the one, bless her).

I don’t mean to sound sorry for myself or like I’m asking for pity (jeez, I hope I sound sound like that, I practiced whining on Frank yesterday, but the laughing didn’t help). It’s just things like this that I’m sure happen to everybody. If they don’t, I want to know your secret. Pretend I have Lily Allen singing “F*ck You” on a loop in my head? That might work, actually. <g> As long as I didn’t start singing it out long, which I don’t suppose I’d have to worry about, because my memory for lyrics is terrible. Choruses are repeated a lot, so sometimes I remember those better. Oops. That’s the part I shouldn’t sing.

It would only work for the people I didn’t care about, though. I need to move on, remember that I can come across as scary, even though everyone I know thinks I’m nice. My best friend in the world is awesome, hands down. He may be afraid he occupies that position, sometimes, but unfortunately, as the person who has known me longest of my friends (twenty three years, give or take) he knows me best and accepts me at my worst. I do wish I hadn’t messed up the one I did. Oh well, is all I can say. Communicating across the internet is a tricky business when you don’t know the other person.

I only have one observation left for the moment. My weather gizmo at the bottom of the browser (Firefox) has what I know is supposed to be a thunderstorm, but looks instead like a globular grey walrus with no tusks, extremely fluffy whiskers, and a lightening strike for a tongue. I may have discovered a new Pokemon character. I call dibs. Walruffus, electric, air, distant cousin to Pikachu. Wait. There’s no way a mouse and a walrus can be related. Scratch that last bit. He and Pikachu occasionally have tea together. Only outdoors and with parasols.

 

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