Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

I’ve been somewhat silent for a while, mainly because I no longer have easy internet access, so long typing sessions aren’t terribly practical. However, I find this very therapeutic, so I’m going to try typing entries up and then posting them when I’m online.

The past few weeks have been challenging in a number of ways – I’ve moved city, discovered that the solution for living arrangements I was so happy with is probably not going to work out, panicked, tried not to panic, met some lovely people, attended a course about subjects far removed from my normal preoccupations, and had a mixture of absolutely awful and simply fabulous times.

I think I’ve also been chatted up a couple of times, but as per usual I’m somewhat oblivious and haven’t noticed until I’ve thought about it afterwards!

However, I am a little confused. The course I took part in last week was really quite extraordinary, and reminded me of several things – how much I enjoy the company of intelligent, well-educated people, how lovely it is to be treated like a lady again, after several years of male company that could rarely be described as ‘gentlemanly’, how much I like nice things, nice places and a sense of affluence (sadly, this does not reflect the state of my bank balance, but that’s a moan for another time!). The majority of the participants were somewhat younger than I, but mostly very bright, and the week as a whole was a great pleasure.

The confusion arises from the behaviour of a certain gentleman – in my age range, successful, charming, charismatic, generous, highly intelligent – in short, generally a delightful companion, and both extremely attractive and accomplished to boot. We have a lot in common, and I thoroughly enjoyed his company. We worked together on several projects during the week, and I assumed that his interest was simply friendly – taking a pleasant and polite interest in a colleague with whom you share quite a lot in common. I registered fairly fast that he was attractive, but it didn’t even cross my mind that he might think the same of me.

Late in the week, several of us went out. I needed to go home briefly, so met up with the others slightly later than planned. When I arrived, he, uncharacteristically discourteously, leant behind the back of the person sitting between us to talk to me and was disarmingly honest and really rather funny about the progress of the evening to date. We all moved on to another venue, we sat next to each other, and though there was plenty of space, there was a certain amount of leg-contact – leg leaning against leg – going on. An accidental-seeming brush against my breast, which he surprisingly didn’t apologise for, and some rather flirtatious, but possibly just high-spirited, behaviour, though nothing overt, added to the fun. Dancing followed, though group- rather than couple-oriented. Frankly, I was having huge amounts of fun! Then, at the end of the evening, when saying goodbye, he said “You’re coming with me, I presume”, twice in a short space of time. The evening before, he’d dropped me off at home on his way to another function, so he knew that I live in the opposite direction to him. I pointed out that it wasn’t geographically sensible, and he seemed a bit taken aback, and then left without any further ado. Did he in fact assume that I was going home with him? It seems unlikely to me, but I am now mentally reviewing the evening in some perplexity. Yes, we’d all drunk a fair bit, but as far as I could tell, intellects were not impaired on either side of this equation.

The following day, he seemed a little cool towards me (though this could have been the hangover!), then made quite a big deal of getting me to text him a photo of the evening before – we now both have each other’s number. Later on, he dropped a query regarding relationship status into a conversation I was having with another girl. I overheard him say earlier in the week that he’d just come out of a long-ish relationship and wasn’t really looking for a ‘replacement’. I’m puzzled. He’s very nice, extremely attractive, and to be honest, I rather wish I’d just got in the taxi with him as he seemed to assume I would – at least then I’d know what he meant!

Did I misunderstand completely? What do you think? Am I reading an attraction on his part into a perfectly innocent situation, possibly because I find him rather appealing? Or did I miss the clues completely? He’s away this weekend, but will be back in town at some point in the next few weeks. I know he has my number and I have his. We will be connected on Facebook in a few days via a course page, and I’d definitely like to see him again – he’d be a great friend, if nothing else – but it seems a little odd to pursue on the strength of a week’s acquaintance and a few confusing moments, and seems unlikely somehow – he’s far more glamorous than I, and could probably pick up almost anyone he chose.
Advice, please! Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I!

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

I’ve been somewhat silent for a while, mainly because I no longer have easy internet access, so long typing sessions aren’t terribly practical. However, I find this very therapeutic, so I’m going to try typing entries up and then posting them when I’m online.

The past few weeks have been challenging in a number of ways – I’ve moved city, discovered that the solution for living arrangements I was so happy with is probably not going to work out, panicked, tried not to panic, met some lovely people, attended a course about subjects far removed from my normal preoccupations, and had a mixture of absolutely awful and simply fabulous times.

I think I’ve also been chatted up a couple of times, but as per usual I’m somewhat oblivious and haven’t noticed until I’ve thought about it afterwards!

However, I am a little confused. The course I took part in last week was really quite extraordinary, and reminded me of several things – how much I enjoy the company of intelligent, well-educated people, how lovely it is to be treated like a lady again, after several years of male company that could rarely be described as ‘gentlemanly’, how much I like nice things, nice places and a sense of affluence (sadly, this does not reflect the state of my bank balance, but that’s a moan for another time!). The majority of the participants were somewhat younger than I, but mostly very bright, and the week as a whole was a great pleasure.

The confusion arises from the behaviour of a certain gentleman – in my age range, successful, charming, charismatic, generous, highly intelligent – in short, generally a delightful companion, and both extremely attractive and accomplished to boot. We have a lot in common, and I thoroughly enjoyed his company. We worked together on several projects during the week, and I assumed that his interest was simply friendly – taking a pleasant and polite interest in a colleague with whom you share quite a lot in common. I registered fairly fast that he was attractive, but it didn’t even cross my mind that he might think the same of me.

Late in the week, several of us went out. I needed to go home briefly, so met up with the others slightly later than planned. When I arrived, he, uncharacteristically discourteously, leant behind the back of the person sitting between us to talk to me and was disarmingly honest and really rather funny about the progress of the evening to date. We all moved on to another venue, we sat next to each other, and though there was plenty of space, there was a certain amount of leg-contact – leg leaning against leg – going on. An accidental-seeming brush against my breast, which he surprisingly didn’t apologise for, and some rather flirtatious, but possibly just high-spirited, behaviour, though nothing overt, added to the fun. Dancing followed, though group- rather than couple-oriented. Frankly, I was having huge amounts of fun! Then, at the end of the evening, when saying goodbye, he said “You’re coming with me, I presume”, twice in a short space of time. The evening before, he’d dropped me off at home on his way to another function, so he knew that I live in the opposite direction to him. I pointed out that it wasn’t geographically sensible, and he seemed a bit taken aback, and then left without any further ado. Did he in fact assume that I was going home with him? It seems unlikely to me, but I am now mentally reviewing the evening in some perplexity. Yes, we’d all drunk a fair bit, but as far as I could tell, intellects were not impaired on either side of this equation.

The following day, he seemed a little cool towards me (though this could have been the hangover!), then made quite a big deal of getting me to text him a photo of the evening before – we now both have each other’s number. Later on, he dropped a query regarding relationship status into a conversation I was having with another girl. I overheard him say earlier in the week that he’d just come out of a long-ish relationship and wasn’t really looking for a ‘replacement’. I’m puzzled. He’s very nice, extremely attractive, and to be honest, I rather wish I’d just got in the taxi with him as he seemed to assume I would – at least then I’d know what he meant!

Did I misunderstand completely? What do you think? Am I reading an attraction on his part into a perfectly innocent situation, possibly because I find him rather appealing? Or did I miss the clues completely? He’s away this weekend, but will be back in town at some point in the next few weeks. I know he has my number and I have his. We will be connected on Facebook in a few days via a course page, and I’d definitely like to see him again – he’d be a great friend, if nothing else – but it seems a little odd to pursue on the strength of a week’s acquaintance and a few confusing moments, and seems unlikely somehow – he’s far more glamorous than I, and could probably pick up almost anyone he chose.
Advice, please! Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I!

A study in contrasts

I've just spent the evening chatting to a colleague and friend about her new man. She's very happy, and is planning to uproot her life and change her long-established plans to be with someone she first met less than two weeks ago. They have already had sex on several occasions, though this does not surprise me. This friend has always been open about the fact that she likes sex, feels the need for a regular dose to maintain her energy and equilibrium, and is willing to sleep with someone without an emotional attachment or any strings attached, if she is in the mood and thinks she'll have a good time. I envy her confidence and her pragmatism about this area of her life.

Late-night conversations often turn confessional, and I admitted, somewhat shyly, to my lack of experience with physical intimacy. She was surprised. I said I sometimes felt like a freak in this regard, and she asked me a question no-one else I've shared this information with has ever asked me: "Have you ever met someone you wanted to have sex with?" When I think about it, the answer to that is "no". I haven't ever felt that level of connection with someone. Perhaps it can be built (I hope so; Blue Boxer Boy is turning out to be more appealing with every conversation!). Giving this answer, I received the somewhat unexpected response: "Well, then there's no need to feel like a freak. It'll happen when you meet someone you want it to happen with". That this response should be so unlooked-for, and so surprising, seems to me to be a measure of how prurient and crass so many discussions of this sort can be.
In contrast, and to highlight the example, at work yesterday, I overheard a conversation which made me cringe in my chair. Several colleagues were discussing their own love-lives in crude detail, and the comment was made that another colleague present was a virgin (I'm a little surprised, as her ex is a close personal friend of mine, and I certainly believed they had, but perhaps not! The girl in question is also stunningly beautiful, with a fabulous figure, and has no doubt had plenty of opportunity, as well as several long-ish term relationship. Perhaps a little intimidating for her sheer physical beauty, but a genuinely lovely person). This information elicited such a round of not-quite-scorn, and advice of the "just do it with anyone" advice that I felt physically ill on behalf of its' target. This is why I don't often share that information about myself, even with relatively close friends in a typically very open environment. Whatever her reasons, and perhaps she too has simply never met someone she wanted to sleep with, how incredibly sad that she should be made to feel self-conscious and embarrassed about what is, after all, a personal choice, and that those colleagues do not have the insight and maturity of the woman I spoke to this evening, who is clearly comfortable enough with her own sexual choices not to feel the need to judge the choices of others.

Weighty issues

Never tell me fanfiction is not good for something (well, several somethings actually, but let's not go there!). I've just come across a story at the Fire & Ice Archive - a dedicated Ginny Weasley/Draco Malfoy site that I've rather abandoned of late, but have come back to in slight desperation this evening (I have spent over a week doing next to nothing, because there is NOTHING TO DO in this wretched city, and no-one to do anything with anyway, as all my colleagues are off in Europe, lucky people. Grrr). At any rate, this story was the slightly unlikely tale of a Draco Malfoy who has become rather overweight through an unhealthy addiction to sweet things brought about by a crushing and stress-inducing work schedule. Sceptical I was, my friends. Very sceptical. However, as I will read almost anything, and particularly when I am this stultifyingly bored, I read on. Draco hires Ginny as his personal trainer and dietician in an effort to regain his social life and to get in shape for a Celebrity Quidditch Match. On their first meeting in several years, Ginny very quickly pinpoints the real reason for his weight gain - he is lacking in confidence.

I have been thinking a lot over the last few days about the fundamental reasons for my failure, again, and again, and again, to lose significant amount of weight and keep it off. This is not a new subject for me. In fact, I have attempted to figure this out for myself, with close friends and even with a couple of therapists over the years. However, this story made me stop and think. Although I present to the world as a very confident, self-assured person (I've been told on numerous occasions that this is one of the major factors in my 'intimidating' status), the fact remains that I have been trying to deal with low self-esteem for years. After horrendous bullying at my prep school (5-10yrs in the system I grew up in) I contemplated suicide, aged 9, and changed schools as a result, with enormous care and attention going into the choice of my new teacher, whose mandate, I later discovered, read something along the lines of "who cares if she learns anything, just make her feel better about herself". Before anyone panics, I should say that I did not act on it then, nor have I contemplated it with any seriousness since, 'though I suspect I've been walking around as an undiagnosed depressive for a fairly large portion of my life. A new school improved matters slightly on the bullying front, but as discussed in previous posts, I've never really fitted in, and the isolation that causes is pretty damaging over such a long period of time.

It makes no sense for me to have low self-esteem, which I suspect is why so few people have ever picked up on it. See what you expect to see, don't look any deeper! From a purely rational standpoint, I know my many gifts and attributes. However, in my sub-conscious, and the darker recesses of my conscious mind, lurks a much less rational, more instinctive and emotional voice which crawls out to wheedle oleaginously and disrupt my equilibrium. Any new situation, or new group of people causes much more stress and fear than it should, particularly in social or sporting contexts. Although my professional achievements are pretty outstanding for a person of my age and experience, I fight off overwhelming self-doubt virtually every day. My constant need to prove myself, to myself as much as anyone else, probably doesn't help me in seeming less intimidating. Those little girls did more damage than they could possibly comprehend.

I was always large for my age, but not, in looking back, particularly fat, as a child. In a photo taken just before my first day of school, I look older than my four-and-a-half years, but am a pretty normal size, and really only carrying baby fat, as would be normal for a child of that age. A photo taken two years later tells a very different story. Here, I am indubitably the chubby kid, and that continues to be the case from that point forward, although it's not until I'm about twelve or thirteen that chubby really becomes 'fat'. In the two years between the first two photos, what happened? I left my wonderful Montessori pre-school, where my accelerated abilities were handled brilliantly and I was never bored or isolated from the other children, where I was popular, for the first and last time in my life, had wonderful friends and understanding teachers. I went to a school which promised to handle me and my freaky IQ with understanding and enrichment, and which failed mightily to do so. A school which singled me out, then left me to the tender mercies of my classmates - all at least a year older, mostly quite bright, but not in my league, mostly the thin, pretty, and already neurotic daughters of trophy wives and second, or third families. Even at 5, they knew where to hit emotionally to find a vulnerable point.

I don't think it had ever occurred to me to that point to think of myself as physically any different from all the other children around me. Despite being the youngest in the class by a year, I was third-tallest, and it would make sense that I was also rather more solid than many of the very petite little girls around me. Besides which, I 'm fairly sure that I had never heard 'fat' used as a derogatory term until I started school. Within days of starting, mid-year, I was the class outcast. I remember eternally being 'it', being banished from the jungle gym at play-time, and being the subject of a barrage of taunts and teasing from a large group of my school mates. My one friend, still, to this day, my dearest friend, though we see each other very rarely, could not always be there, loathed conflict (she still does!), and aged 5, was hardly equipped to handle being my defence team against an entire class-full of prosecutors (or persecuters, depending on your preferred metaphor!). Add to this level of misery a teacher who, by her own admission, was threatened by this precocious under-age interloper; eternal boredom, as the promised extension and enrichment programme failed to materialise, and a new sibling, who, however much I adored her, must have been a shock to the system of a much-cherished only child, and it's not surprising that things started to go downhill. By the start of my second year, my new teacher was reduced to giving me a sticker for every day I arrived in school looking happy. I was telling very tall, highly imaginative stories to get attention, and my after-school treat had become a neccessity to retrieve me from the inevitable flood of tears at the end of the day. Exhaustion from dealing with the emotional trauma was most easily remedied with a quick sugar-boost, and although my mother had never permitted processed foods, fizzy drinks and the like, my grandmother's shortbread, Mama's very sugary muesli flapjacks and homemade icecream all made admirable substitutes on the way from school to ballet, speech and drama, swimming, piano or french class.

This charming state of affairs continued, more or less, through my primary schooling. Although my classmates grew more civilised as we got older, they also became more adept at hiding the torment they inflicted from teachers and other students who might have intervened. Inevitably, the group that was worst was the 'top' group - 'top' in an academic sense, though they were also mostly the popular girls in the class. In retrospect, I can see that they were probably jealous and intimidated by my intellectual gifts, which left me streets ahead without any effort whatsoever. A class times-table challenge had to be abandoned after I sat at the top of the board without change for over a month, despite numerous challengers. Even then, my accomplishments were such that it must have seemed incredible that I, of all students, should have low self-esteem and depression. At the time, I just knew that they hated me, and that the reason they most often gave was because I was 'fat'.

I don't remember what the catalyst was that pushed me over the edge. I don't remember how it became clear to my mother and my teachers that serious problems were afoot. Either I've blocked them out, and my memories between eight and ten are sketchy at best. I remember going on my first diet - a tupperware container of fruit and cottage cheese for lunch does not help an eight year old blend in, when all the other little girls have packets of crisps, fruit roll-ups and Peanut Butter sandwiches. I remember going to Weight Watchers for the first time. I remember my first real experience of being a star in a non-academic setting, and I remember that I had a lot of 'tonsillitis' - a fact which meant I missed learning about fractions, an omission which haunted my maths career to the bitter end. I remember looking at the rack of knives in our kitchen and thinking how easy it would be. Beyond that, I have no recall.

With this as my background, I think about the weight issues that have plagued me ever since, and examine the facts. Until I was thirteen, I danced up to five days a week, though I was not permitted to sit senior exams, as my teacher knew I would be failed as I walked in the door for not having the right body type. I still have my pointe shoes, dancer's calf muscles, and a love for all varieties of dance that I get to indulge too rarely. I played field-hockey well, though usually in defensive positions (less running). I swam in the summer, skied in the winter and was taught tennis at some point in each year, though I never really progressed, finding it rather dull at the time. I was not an inactive child. Nonetheless, the weight continued to increase. I took to comfort-eating as soon as I could reach the shelves and cupboards where the 'bad' foods were kept. What my mother thought was happenning to the vast quantities of chocolate chips that disappeared, I will never know, though it may have been that the Nanny du jour was doing the shopping. It's extraordinary what a comfort-seeking eater will consume - stale, soggy biscuits, chocolate gone white with age, left-over Hallowe'en sweets from years previous. I stole small coins from my parents' dresser to buy junk from the school tuck shop. Anything to get me through the day. On one occasion, I ate the entire contents of a collection of sweets I was supposed to sell as a fundraising effort for a youth ballet production, and then had to make a sneaky withdrawal from my bank account in order to pay the requisite sum.

Looking at it now, looking at my current behaviour as regards food and exercise, and thinking in terms of self-esteem and confidence, it strikes me that perhaps the reason I have struggled to lose weight is that subconsciously, I don't want to. Having been told repeatedly, for such a long time, that the reason my classmates despised me was because I was 'fat', that 'fatness' became my shield. People didn't like me, not because of who I was, but what I was. Not because they were threatened by my abilities, or my vocabulary. Not because my sudden arrival had disturbed the established pecking order and a fight for social survival in Darwinian terms was inevitable. Not because they simply weren't ever going to be keen on me personally, but because I was fat. Fat became my security blanket, even as it became my greatest vulnerability. It wasn't me they were rejecting. It was my fat.

It's quite a realisation for me, and I think it really is the root answer to a question I have been asking myself for some time. Although I have had related theories before, none of them has been so basic. I don't really fear men - many of my best friends are men - so it can't just be that I hold on to my excess weight as protection from. I am fiercely ambitious, and do want to succeed in my career, as much as the next few years terrify me, so I can't only be subconciously holding myself back from that, not least because 'fat' was an issue for me long before my career was even a blip on the horizon. I need to think about it more, I need to analyse what that means for me on a day to day basis. My relationship with food is much saner and healthier these days, but still suffers from blips, mostly to do with boredom or emotional upheaval. Stress is a big factor too. My formal exercise aversion is something I suspect I will have to be creative about. Gyms, and even more especially, aerobics sessions, will never be for me, and I will always prefer snuggling up with a book or a good movie to going out for the sole purpose of getting sweaty and out of breath. If I could dance my way to fitness, I'd be happy, but my financial resources won't permit that course for quite some time, I fear. However, maybe now I can find the path that's right for me. If not to weight loss, then perhaps to self acceptance. To being happy to be me.

This is a very long post, and a very challenging one for me to have written. It's now stupid o'clock in the morning, and later today I have work to do, so I must away to my rest. Forgive any typos please - I'm too tired to re-read all of this now! If anyone wants to read the FanFic that began my epiphany, the link is http://www.dracoandginny.com/viewstory.php?sid=6401 . Gidge_8, whoever you are, wherever you are, you may just have changed my life. If nothing else, I now have a very good reason for my fanfic addiction, which doesn't have to do with the allure of various sexy vampires, wizards and the odd, sort-of-normal human!

A random thought on the oddities of the English language

Isn't it odd that we speak of 'losing' our virginity. It's not as if it's something that can be found again. I wonder what the terminology is in other languages. Think I must do some research!

Anger, fear, longing, living

Reading back over yesterday's entries, and particularly the latter of the two, I realise how aggressive and angry they sound. It's easy to accept being sad, feeling lonely, even the official 'depression' is a socially acceptable response to feeling that life, in some ways, is passing you by.
Anger seems far less so. But I am angry.

I am angry that I feared my father so much for so long that I am afraid I will never trust easily, and men in particular. I am angry that my mother's precepts of what was ladylike and polite and safe curbed my burgeoning sexuality before I really even had a chance to explore it. I am angry that society has inculcated such a limited idea of female attractiveness and feminine behaviour into my mind, and those of my friends, as much as the minds of the men around me. I am angry that no boy or man has ever had the guts to attempt to break through the public persona to the girl inside. Above all, I am angry at myself - for not being happy with the many blessings I have, for seeming to be unable to deal with the emotional reasons I hang onto my extra weight, which in itself I am sure is more of an obstacle in my own mind than in that of others, for wanting to be extraordinary, and at the same time craving the warmth, support and love of a family I create with one special man, our friends, our families, and, one day, our children. For not being able to make myself understand that these things are not easily compatible, for wanting it all, and for allowing the lack of it to hurt so much.

In less than a month, I will be 27. I have never been asked on a date, I have never been kissed, or kissed anyone else romantically, I have never known what it feels like to be in love and to have that love reciprocated. It has been a very long time since I met a man who really sparked my interest and I worry that I no longer have the ability - that my attraction function has shuit down, permanently. I know how melodramatic much of this sounds, and I despise the weakness in myself that needs these experiences to feel human. I want to love and be loved, not in a familial or platonic sense, I want to feel desire, and to be desired, I want to create children, and a family, with a man I love and who loves me. No, my ovaries aren't giving up quite yet, but I'm so far behind the learning curve on this that I'm not sure I'll ever catch up.

Every year, since I was sixteen or so, I have made the same pledge on my birthday: "This year's the year. This time next year I'll have had my first kiss, I'll have started really living, I will be happy, I won't feel so alone. " This year, I'm not sure I will make that pledge, because my realistic, pragmatic brain is starting to win out over my optimistic, romantic, eternally hopeful heart. Another thing that frightens me. I am angry, I am afraid, I yearn and I exist. And now, it seems, I blog.

And another thing... the set-up cringe

Wow, twice in one day! Just a note about friends trying to set one up. It is almost always cringe-inducing. I have never had a friend attempt a set-up with any sort of subtlety. The last one, at her own wedding, when her thoughts might justifiably have been elsewhere, was positively grotesque. I appreciate what she thought she was doing for me, but, wow, humiliation central.
Added to that the fact of whom she was trying to set me up with,and the cringe factor just increased ten-fold. Shorter than me in stocking-feet by about 4 inches, sweet enough, for lack of any better description, but utterly without personality, charm, charisma or ambition. Halfway decent brain, but hideously dull job, with no outside interests as far as I could tell. I did try to have a conversation with the man, but it was like - actually I don't have a sufficiently impossible simile for the farce that was that attempt at conversation! I love my friend dearly, and I appreciate that she was thinking of me, but if that's honestly the sort of man she can see me with, I'd rather be an utterly disgraceful spinster, preferably with a string of younger gigolos instead of cats!
Dating websites have also come up with some charmers - my best match on one was an unemployed handyman from the far north, who hadn't even completed high school, let alone graduate school, whose hobbies included rap (which I loathe), heavy metal (which I can't stand) and watching football (which bores me to tears).
Yes, I guess I'm just a bit picky for wanting a moderately well-educated man with whom I can have a conversation, whose bald spot I can't see when I look down, and whose tastes in music wouldn't drive me to destroy the stereo.