Perception and Black Holes
I see myself in a lot of people. One of the biggest things I see is the wish to not be perceived. And while I think a good portion of it involves certain life events that are impacting me currently, I believe my desire to be imperceptible exists even when things are going well. It’s a subconscious wish that’s pervaded since childhood, and one that hadn’t come to mind until recently.
I saw this avoidance reflected back at me by a boy I’d met online. I call him “boy” because this is the first 37 year old man I’d come across who reacted and approached everything like a middle schooler. And I’m not saying that to berate or come across as purposefully mean. I’ve met many people whose personalities peaked in high school and that’s it. Hardly any growth or self-reflection; just teenagers forever stuck in an aging body. This was the first person I’d met who felt like a 12 year old parading around in an adult body.
He was painfully uncomfortable with himself and kept telling me how wrongly he’s been treated by the people he’s known in his life. He made it very clear that he’s extremely uncomfortable around people, which is why he became a recluse and hardly goes out much.
“People are scary,” he told me as we made our way back inside from the smoking patio. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was looking at me, hoping I’d agree with the sentiment. I said nothing.
Internally, I answered, “They’re really not, though. People are just people.”
But then I thought about how quiet and reclusive I’ve been with my improv group, how the impact of certain life events have made me emotionally exhausted and withdrawn, and how potentially this behavior has soiled any connections I could be making. I shun people when I don’t mean to, but opening up brings the risk of rejection. When I think of approaching people first, I’m brought back into the body of that little girl in elementary school being shunned and dismissed by another classmate, all because she wanted to show off her favorite stuffed animal - a very floofy arctic fox.
When I think of approaching people, I think of her, and I feel a wave of shame come over me. “They probably wouldn’t be interested in getting to know me, anyway,” I think, or, “They’d probably think I’m weird or awkward”, even though the interaction would be a harmless greeting or introduction.
I believe the bullying and dismissiveness I’d received in childhood molded my self-worth in a way that I would rather be quiet and passive when surrounded by people. Childhood can be just as scary (if not more) than adulthood. And we all carry our inner child like broken dolls, presenting them to the next person as if they have the glue or stitching to set them right.
I saw this with the same boy - presenting his broken self like a project to be fixed, pieces of porcelain begging to be made whole by another set of hands.
“It’s scary singing in front of people,” he’d said, giving me a look like he was expecting validation, reassurance, or pity. I’d done that dance before with a previous ex - pouring my love and reassurance like pouring concrete into a void. You see the effort to plug the hole, but it all keeps trickling down into bottomless black.
This was the first date, mind you. Filling holes is too big of a commitment, and too high of an expectation at this point, but I did make one bid to show what I could offer.
“Seriously, you make great music,” I said at some other point in our date. Which was the truth. He’d sent me a sample previously on Discord that I had genuinely thought was good, and I felt I was being genuine in my sentiment while also offering some of the reassurance I’d thought he’d appreciate. Perhaps I’d get a “thank you” or “I appreciate that” before he’d maybe share some self-reflection about where his fears as a musician come from.
Instead, I got nothing. We made eye contact when I said this, but still nothing. I felt like he didn’t believe me.
And I realized that this person doesn’t want a safe and healthy relationship. He just wants someone to pity or feel sorry for him - an emotional tampon he could shove into his wounds then discard at any time. It was a role I’d played for too long in the past, and a pattern I’d learned to spot since then. It made me realize how truly broken and toxic this person probably is.
We’ve talked briefly since then a couple of times, until eventually the conversation fizzled out. And while I recount the story to friends as a very odd date, it was informative in a lot of ways. And I wonder how many instances in my life have I come across as a complete asshole by shunning bids of connection from others. I struggle accepting compliments, and maybe that’s why he was quiet when I tried offering him one. Who knows. Either way, sometimes when I sit with my comedy group, I wonder how much of a similar vibe I’ve projected onto people, and wonder how I could be perceived differently.
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