“Kyra, you’re always talking and talking and talking, and you never notice that no one cares what you have to say or that no one’s listening to you. Why don’t you just do us all a favor and shut up?”
Middle school was nice to all of us, wasn’t it. Insecurities feeding off of other people’s insecurities. Crude behavior justified under the nice, friendly belief we’re all just teenagers trying to “find ourselves.”
I find it incredible one insecure junior high boy’s fleeting remark on the way back from a seventh grade track meet still plays over in my head fairly regularly. When I text someone and they don’t respond. When I tell a “funny” story and nobody laughs. When it’s Saturday night and I’m sitting at home alone.
I have been the weird kid since forever. My childhood memories are those of playing second fiddle to people’s other friends and just hanging around in the background, available to make people laugh upon request.
I, like others, have turned to comedy to resist the creeping sense of worthlessness. Comics are all insecure. They make fun of others to feel better about themselves, and they make fun of themselves to direct the way other people make fun of them. My personal preference is self-deprecating humor because it tends to offend the least number of people.
I don’t like talking about serious subjects. I’m not entirely sure, but I think that’s why I struggle to make close friends. The one time I kinda had a boyfriend, my mom told me eventually I would need to talk about more than balloon animals and YouTube comedians. Thankfully, we broke it off before it came to that.
I can’t respond to some situations correctly. I want every conversation I’m included in to begin and end in laughter. Unfortunately, I’ve learned people don’t appreciate jokes right after sad stuff like a death in the family. Laughter at such times is deemed insensitive. So, I feel like I am playing life with an incomplete deck of cards. I’m missing the suit that explains how to appropriately deal with serious issues and I have more than two jokers (see what I did there).
I recently realized I can’t have a normal conversation without trying to make a joke.
And so, I’ve devised a plan to remedy my inability to say the right thing at the right time. Miley Cyrus and I both want to be a fly on the wall. I want to listen to other people deal with tragedy. I want to know the appropriate amount of emotion to express, calculate the adequate amount of sentimental words needed to fix things. I do want people to feel better. That’s all I want, honestly. I just don’t know how sometimes. I suppose my “fly on the wall” plan is not the best of plans because it’s creepy and impossible. Also, voicing this sorta makes me sound really strange. Not sure this post will go up on the blog or not. An alternative approach would be to binge watch some soap operas and then tone the reactions down a tad. I might go with the latter.