i'm really not that funny afterall.

so last night Pooh Bear and i got into another argument about me talking too much. i really wanted to tell him about what goes through my mind when i’m being overly talkative, and the goofy centre of attention. i wanted to explain to him how it helps me feel safe, how i always feel i need to prove myself, how i’m afraid of silence, afraid of being judged… i wanted to tell him all of this and i was feeling really scared, so i said something off cuff, something obnoxious and similar to the kind of thing he would say, as a way to diffuse my own tension. yet another argument broke out about me not taking his feelings seriously. i don’t feel up to talking it through with him right now – he wouldn’t be awake anyhow – so i’ll do it here. because being vulnerable in front of the faceless masses is easy, in front of someone i love, scary. i laugh as i write this, and it just further demonstrates: i use humour as a way to protect myself from feeling vulnerable – not just in the context of our conversation last night, but also in general.

my adoptive family on my father’s side are caustic people. being in the middle of them is, quite honestly, horrific. i suppose over the years some of them have become easier to deal with, and in small groups some are almost pleasant at times. the thing is, they turn on each other, and on me, without any notice. they are worse than a pack of unstable feral dogs. at any moment they are all ready to rip any member of the family to shreds, and leave them bloodied and alone – and they almost seem to delight in doing it. the worst part is, once a member has been attacked and ostracised, there’s no telling how long everything they do will be wrong, and for how long they will be attacked over and over. there is always someone in the room or house under attack in the immediate, but also there is always at least one family member who has been ousted, or a small number who are at perpetual war, and these battles often continue for years. instead of talking about who’s doing what with career, or hobbies, or just enjoying family company, gatherings often centre on sorting out who isn’t talking to whom right now, and figuring out who to blame. i spent a lot of time being that person.

i was taught from an early age that men’s opinions and activities are infinitely more important than women’s, disagreeing with the dysfunctional pack means ostracisation, and that showing emotional vulnerability is a sure fire way to make yourself the target. my mother’s family is wonderful in comparison, and as close to being a functional family as seems possible. from their example i knew that devaluing the one’s you supposedly love felt awful, and that there was a better way to interact. for years i rebelled against my dad’s family, and found myself constantly exhausted and attacked. mom understood what i was going through, being a perpetual outsider herself, and from her i learned that the only way to survive was to show no vulnerability around them, and avoid them wherever possible. when they’re around, grin and bear it, hold it in, and struggle through the visit, because they are incapable and unwilling to change.

and so i’m funny. when i’m funny i don’t have to talk about anything important. i constantly fear that i’m being judged, being watched for any sign of weakness. if i can make fun of myself first, it hurts less. if i can be the centre of conversation but use humour to direct it away from anything important than i’m keeping fights from breaking out. what Pooh Bear interpreted last night as me making light of his discomfort was in fact me trying to lessen my own. clearly i need a new tactic.