And such is the way it is.
Awkward, uncomfortable, ill-at-ease, terrible conversation, all the wonderful things that define me, encapsulate me.
Such as I am. I am a banter failure. I do not comprehend the nuance of small talk. Or big talk.
Medium talk, medium-heavy, medium-small, I do it all equally badly. With some people I am worse than others, but ultimately, regardless of my non-audience, my skills of gab are downright tragic.
I can’t think of anything to say to people. Most people bore me and the tedium is so utterly asocially agonizing. I don’t like to waste my breath on words. Each word I say saps my soul of that much energy, of life. Too much talking leaves me spent and tattered and trying to formulate words in the absence of structure or cause is an absolutely horrid experienc.
Some people find amusement, commiseration, identity, in the act of talking. There is a sating of the soul that happens when they flap their gums and ping pong meaningless repetitions ad nauseam. It took me a long time to realize that most people talk not to convey meaning or experience or wisdom, but to fulfill an inner void that can only be soothed, or at least glossed over, with words, words, words, and lots of words.
I was built the opposite of this. My blueprint is a negative version of most normal people. Words deplete my force, they destroy my life, they gut my soul. Words exhaust me and most subjects are simply not interesting enough to hear.
The worst thing is that no matter how you try, talking never comes easy. Never. The worst situation for a person such as I is that where I am trapped in a situation with one other person while I try erratically to overcome the uneasy, uncomfortable and grueling silence that descends over us. I frequently say stupid, vapid shit which is my sad, vain attempt at small talk and everybody involved now feels direly uncomfortable after I opened my mouth. Soon your awkwardness tags along after you like a hungry, visible stench and affixed so, makes others uncomfortable merely by your mute presence.
People may avoid you or walk away as soon as you appear.
Your lack of social grace is as striking as if you hadn’t wiped your ass in a week. With the same ramifications.
And sometimes, when you are afflicted with my…affliction, you find yourself in a downward elevator.
The doors open and close so slowly here.
You are waiting for the elevator to descend and the doors begin to finally slide shut but they are so slow that one of the girls on the floor runs to the elevator because she can make it before the doors close. Cause they close so slow-ly.
She is far away but she will have no trouble reaching the doors in time…
You are standing in the back of the elevator, out of the line of sight. Shrinking away, like always.
As she makes her way toward the elevator’s opening, catching the next ride downbound, she captures sight of you.
And with normal people inhabiting the downward bound vehicle, she would continue running to the elevator and laughing and levity would ensue, jokes about elevator rides and racing the closing doors, yada yada, all the same tired bullshit platitudes that people can possibly stuff into one stinking elevator carriage.
A script, she would have entered a script like a superhero, the door open. Comedy would ensue.
But I was in the elevator and the comedy ceased. For my life is not a scripted comedy, there is no laugh track and there is no live audience. She spied me soon enough to make an abrupt halt and turn.
She put the brakes on and stopped and quickly diverted her approach toward the elevator in favor of the stairwell.
She saw me.
And realized an elevator ride with me was not worth the grueling uneasiness when the physically laborious stairs awaited.
And I descended alone, again.