At My Least Beautiful

I should be working on my newsletter right now, but I wanted to blog instead. I'm actually multitasking; I'm listening to an interview with an author friend as we speak. As fate would have it, I found an unpublished draft on here from March. Wouldn't you know it, this is exactly what I want to address here and now. 

I often look at people and wonder what drives them. What makes them great? What makes them different? What makes them keep going? 

The answer is usually considered a positive trait. Determination, focus, love, desire. While all of this holds true for me, those answers also come from a dark place. 

The primary one is fear. Fear of losing. Fear of failure. Fear of being inadequate. Most people know I deal with High-Functioning Anxiety and Depression. Imagine caring too much about what's not important and not enough about what is. Imagine sabotaging yourself and then falling to pieces when you lose. That's the genesis of it. 

The term "neurospicy" is used liberally nowadays to encompass anything and everything that is not considered normal. Nevermind the fact that I secretly despise the word normal. I suppose it's no longer a secret, but what is normal? Who and/or what is the standard of normality? A few years back, one of my longtime friends suggested I've always had a form of autism, specifically Asperger's. I noticed when I started watching The Big Bang Theory that I exhibited many of Sheldon Cooper's "quirks." Once I get used to a certain pattern, I embrace it. I need it. I crave it. If and when that pattern deviates in any way, I become thoroughly unhinged. To me, that proves her theory. 

Another aspect of Asperger's deals with social interaction. I can be awkward at times. Generally speaking, I need to have a "plus one." Otherwise, I flounder, and that anxiety paralysis starts creeping in. I always need someone to act as "home base." 

I've always worried about my relationships with everyone. I get downright paranoid that I'm going to say or do something wrong and it's going to be "the end." It doesn't matter how long I've known that person or how well I think I know them. I will always live with that fear of losing everyone. 

In part, that's what drives me to be as eager and supportive as I am. It's worse when I truly care about someone. I want to be needed and I want to be wanted. In this case, what drives me is often what kills me. Often times, I try too hard and give too much because I'm afraid of giving too little. 

I always worry about the other shoe dropping. I'm always one step away from giving up. Ironic, isn't it. What drives me to greatness is also what leads me to ruin.

Adding to all this inner strife is the fact that I had a falling out with a bunch of friends last year. I touched upon this in my last blog, and I keep saying I'm going to tell this story on TikTok live. Here goes.

I got into Twitter during the pandemic because it was the only way to interact with people. I found a group of Islanders hockey fans who seemingly took me in. I started hanging out with them and was ecstatic that I'd found some new friends. I felt invigorated.

Jen has since assured me they were not nice people and I'm better off without them. This is true, but it doesn't negate the hurt, nor does it diminish the feelings of deceit and betrayal. With these people, I did everything for them. I gave all I could and then some. I was determined to be the best friend they've ever had. 

One day, I started writing again. I was inspired by the idea of meeting a new group of friends post-Covid, so I used that as a basis for Eddie's midlife rebirth in Eddie The Legend (which I'm obligated to mention is a four-time Award Finalist LOL).

Then, it all went wrong. They read my book, got to the part where Eddie meets his new inner circle, and assumed their likenesses were all included. They weren't. There was a slew of characters either inspired by other people (Dani = a hybrid of my wife and a friend from Florida, Tim = a friend of my uncle) or completely made from scratch. 

I was never really a part of their clique anyway. When I didn't receive the same respect and admiration I gave them, I worried endlessly. I gave more. It ate me alive. When I left Twitter for the sake of my own sanity, they ridiculed my book while maintaining we were still friends. This remains in the back of my mind to this day. They betrayed my trust and broke my sanity. They've made me question everything about everyone. They've made me believe that, in the blink of an eye, it can all fall apart, and I'll lose everything. Nobody can tell me it won't happen again because it has happened. 

That's what consumes me. At my core, I have a desire to belong and I do everything in my power to prove my worth. At the same time, I need more. I need to be special. When I fail in that regard, I spiral. There's no peace of mind because I'm trying to achieve the unattainable. It's a vicious cycle. 

For now, I must be content with being Brian Scala, for better or worse. I must be proud of what I've accomplished, especially the part where I've turned an intended short story series into my soon-to-be third novel. I will do my best to carry that shoe and not let my anxiety cause it to fall from my grasp. 

I try to heed a person's kind words. I appreciate all the positive reinforcement. I don't know if I'll achieve peace of mind in this lifetime, but I won't stop trying. After all, I'm still bound and determined to be the most beautiful version of me, the best friend I've ever had.