It's not you, it's me

I’ve been trying to come up with a personal blog post for a little while.  Maybe this comes with the trap of having an online space signed with your name, but I’m afraid of posting what I truly feel because I worry about how such a post will reflect on me.  Every time I consciously try to write something I end up generalizing things so much to the point where it rings false.

I write because I want to connect, and this is the way I tap into the part of myself that I have trouble accessing when face to face with someone, especially if I don’t know them well. That said, I sometimes feel as though whatever I put into the web and social media is just more static to be tuned out, especially in spaces at the mercy of algorithms and statistics. I wonder how often my writing becomes white noise as soon as my name’s attached.

Sometimes I go for months without talking to people, even if I consider them friends. It’s not personal animus so much as the feeling that I probably get more out of the relationship more than I’m able to give in return. I can enjoy someone’s company, but when I feel like I’m getting too close or that I’ve opened up too much to them, I instinctively back away for a while. I don’t want to be the guy people only put up with out of a sense of obligation, or worse, pity. My individual friends have their own lives and careers; some have partners and families. I don’t really trust my instincts on these matters, but if I sense a growing distance from someone or assume they need a bit of space, I would rather err on the side of consideration instead of becoming this draining, needy presence that people come to resent.

Over the years, there were brief flirtations with the idea of an active social life, filled with meaningful conversations over drinks and good food. It was a way to stretch out of my comfort zone and build new connections in what was an unfamiliar city. I kept wearing identities and disguises that turned translucent as soon as people became familiar with me, so I shrank away from every space that I felt like I was intruding. I’m not going to pretend that eating double quarter pounders at McDonalds by myself (the automated kiosks are great when you don’t want to talk to people) or binge-watching Cheers DVDs in my apartment is a fulfilling life, but it fits me better than the dance parties or activist galas.

Every now and then I tell myself I should probably make plans with someone I haven’t seen in person or talked to in a while, but worry that any connection that existed between us has long dissipated and the hard-won comfort I felt around them is gone. I admit to being a shitty friend; I’ve rarely invited company over and seldom initiate get-togethers. I just don’t know if I’m up to the work of sustaining friendships right now, and am not going to delude myself that I can handle anything closer than that.

When I withdraw, do people actually miss me, or do they miss the person they thought I was before they got too close to ignore the neuroses and character failures?