Box of Hammers

I am constantly being a stick in the mud. As I scroll my newsfeed, seeing post after post about copying and pasting or picture challenges, I roll my eyes. Nobody cares about your support via copy and pasting. No one actually wants to see your first profile picture or photos that make you feel beautiful.

I catch myself thinking these thoughts. A part of me is forever annoyed with other people. I don’t like people. If I don’t have a few drinks in me, I don’t think people much like me either.

Maybe it is a part of social anxiety, but I have never been one for small talk. I don’t want to know how you are and I don’t want to lie when you ask me how I am. I have never been much good at small talk either. I actually got into sports to have something to talk to people about.

A good portion of the useless information floating around in my head is for the sole purpose of being able to maintain a conversation and not make someone uncomfortable with my awkwardness. I don’t watch baseball, yet can tell you fact after stupid fact if baseball is what you are into. I read movie plots so I can join in conversation about movies I never even plan to see.

It is neurotic the lengths I go to in the name of fitting in. I go through motions, suffering inside for an exit sign or escape route.

I want people to like me. So much so I know random oddball information and have it prepped to pepper into conversation. If given the option to dissipate, I may linger a moment or two.

I am scared I lack the impact to be remembered.

Would you miss me when I’m gone?

If I peel away my sarcasm and cynicism, exposing my soul in its bare gritty form, would you look away or hold my stare?

I am perpetually sad. Perpetually anxious. Perpetually uncomfortable. Some days, I don’t even realize I have carried sadness with me all day. I sit at my laptop to write and find myself suddenly feeling a burden lifted from my chest as sad thoughts fill page.

A good day spirals into darkness when I finally allow myself to think.

A friend of mine put out a message for writers to share their faces and the anxiety or depression they carry guarded by a smile. As I typed out my feelings, I found myself unable to leave a comment. It wasn’t so much feeling like talking about my sadness would be taboo, but the thought that nobody cared.

In my mind, everyone I talk to hates me. I don’t much like me, so why would they? I didn’t want her to feel obligated into including me. For as long as I can remember I was an unwelcome obligation and I spend a good portion of adulthood going out of my way to be out of people’s way.

I didn’t add to her piece, because my anxiety coupled with my sadness told me I wasn’t wanted. I am feeling a deep sense of irony with that.

One of my closest friends said I was fucked up like a box of hammers. I don’t understand the analogy and maybe that is why I loved it so much. It fit. I spend most days feeling like a square being forced to fit in a circular hole.

If I had participated I would have said I am sad. Most days, the sadness creeps up on me when I take a moment to myself. I don’t label the sadness, because I try to spend my time outrunning it or outright refusing to acknowledge it. I have anxiety. It forces me to become withdrawn when I really want to be outgoing. My anxiety convinces me everyone hates me. The sadness convinces me I should disappear. Together, they coerce me into believing no one will care if I dissipate.

I am fucked up like a box of hammers.

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5 comments on “Box of Hammers
  1. We’re all fucked up darlin. Some like a box of hammers , some like a bag of turds. Some of us feel about as useless as hamburgers at PETA protest. I relate to this piece very much. You seem pretty likable to me from the outside looking in.

  2. Punk Rock Papa

    Don’t get me started on the copy-paste statuses. I think some people perpetuate them with good intentions but I find most of them (the statuses) shallow. I’m constantly seeing the “if you’re a true friend paste this on your wall” one doing the rounds. If you’re a true friend, how about saying “hello” once in awhile?

    That’s one thing I don’t like about social media: how easy it is to just ‘like’ something as if that does the job. I use the like buttons but only if I can’t find the words or – anxiety kicking in – I think my comment wouldn’t be worthwhile. I almost never ‘like’ an unhappy post because it seems counterintuitive.

    I think most people don’t like small talk, but it comes easier to some people. I’m quite comfortable nowadays sitting in silence around other people. I wasn’t always: I had similar feelings of wanting to be liked and interesting. But people find silences uncomfortable and you will quickly find them filling the gaps.

    Hey, I like you!

    Random movie quote for you as I’ve seen it twice in the last week:

    “I like them, I like them! I liked them first! Before I even met them I liked them! As soon as I met them I liked them right away! You hate them compared to how much I like them!”

    Admittedly, I’ve only recently started following your updates after watching your FB live read, but I like your writing and seeing you on camera. You can read a lot from people’s expressions and body language. I got that you’re a nice guy to hang out with and we hardly know each other (easy way to fix that)

    I think your friend probably had good intentions with the sadness face update (I haven’t seen it). I’m in two minds about these type of posts though. On the one hand I like that it’s a way of raising awareness of things like depression, racism, abuse etc, but on the other hand I fear that it tokenises them or possibly even, that it makes people a target, if that makes sense?

    Thank you for sharing. I know this must have been a difficult post to write and I am grateful for your words.
    Daniel recently posted…Diabetic-Friendly Apple and Cinnamon CakeMy Profile

  3. Ah I write my longer comments in Simple Note first.. Looks like I accidentally copy and pasted the title. I didn’t mean to sound so formal!

  4. You might be fucked up like a box of hammers, but you are our box of hammers and we love you for it. Everyone is fucked up, but it takes a brave and bold person to lay it out bare for all to see. And who wants their friends to be normal? Ugh.

  5. You are a box of hammers, but if you are a square, I must be a hexagon? Who knows. I hate you. Not a moment dick.

    And btw. I totally dig this, which is why I am posting a lame comment at 3am. After a long night of stupid drunks at work. I win. Now go 69 yourself out of the funk in your head. Sandooodoodle and I would notice.

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