Perhaps it’s a broken record to anyone who’s read this once or twice, but I always feel the need to preface these posts with the declaration that the idea behind this blog is not to grab attention, be emo, or anything like that. As someone who’s historically struggled with emotional openness and vulnerability while also being an avid writer, a blog seemed like a good way for me to articulate my feelings in a way that puts them outside of my head and extends an olive branch of sorts to humanity over subjects I wouldn’t share otherwise.

So there’s that.

This year, I feel like I’ve made some pretty good strides as a person when it comes to being open, showing vulnerability, and the like. I could stand to involve my family more in that effort, but one step at a time.

Tonight, I had what was, to me, a very  traumatic experience. In the grand scheme, it amounts to first world problems but it was rather draining emotionally.

It’s nearly 2am. I’m just hanging out, looking at random stuff on the internet as latent insomnia and a perennially running mind take hold. Low lights. Jazz music, as I am one to do.

I go to pee, think nothing of it, go back to the couch. About fifteen minutes later I hear the toilet still running. I go to look, and take the top off and it’s just still filling up. Like, past the point it’s supposed to.

I panic.

For one, I know not a damn thing about how a toilet works. Two, it’s 2 in the morning. Who exactly could I call? If I call my landlords, what do they do at this hour? Call someone? Inefficient. If I call the condominium emergency line (which I would have to find), the track record I have with them generally not seeming to give a damn about having a quick turnaround time suggests to me they might send someone out around Tuesday afternoon. Inefficient.

If I call a service directly, I’d have to Google search to find someone, cold call them with zero rapport, and urge them to come over to a stranger’s house at the middle of a night to perform a service. That would be their job, but damn if it’s not a little awkward and who knows how long it would take for them to get over there.

I don’t even know how to stop water from running to a toilet, so while my mind is racing through all of this, I’m trying to turn the knob in the back to turn this thing off. It won’t turn. I wouldn’t know whether to turn it left or right anyway. So I open the top of this thing and in the span of 5 minutes I got to have a pretty familiar understanding of how basic plumbing works.

It felt like I was disarming a damn bomb. Only on a handful of occasions have I felt so powerless, vulnerable, isolated, alone, and ill-equipped to handle a challenge before me. My mind wandered to what would happen if this thing overflowed with water at a rate faster than I could try to scoop out with a cup or bowl or something? What if I can only scoop  water out just fast enough to break even. I sit there like someone trying to keep a boat afloat until someone shows up, potentially not until the morning?

What kind of water damage would the unit be looking at? I’m supposed to be flying to friggin’ California this week on a trip that means quite a damn bit to me as far as leaving home, branching out, and experiencing life goes. How much enjoyment could I have if it’s underscored by the idea that I failed to stop water damage from happening to the condo I rent and all this stuff has to happen to fix what basically amounts to my failure to act. I would be in California, the whole time, crestfallen over my own shortcomings. The perfectionist in me would demand. Something I’ve waited a half a year for would be poisoned by my failure.

And even if I could stall it, what then? Where would I even begin to investigate? And how long could I Google search and look for answers in a situation that would require consistent attention.

So I decided it’d just be me trying to figure it out, on the fly.

And I did.

At the end of it all, at least I can say that I met the challenge as best I could and I’m not swimming in my condo right now. No damage. Things are stable enough now that I can contact my landlord this morning and see if they’d have someone come take a look.

Yay.

Usually, this would be an experience that I’d keep to myself. For one, it exposes vulnerability. That’s generally a non-starter as far as sharing goes. Two, it’s a pretty weird progression of events overall, so that makes it all the more embarrassing.

But I’ve tried to really make a point to open up, attempt to rely on people, and not just let feelings and stress roll around in my head and cause me emotional stress.

Someone I’m really  close to seemed interested at first, resorted to jokes, then introduced a completely unrelated topic that was more focused on them, then stopped responding.

Well, then.

I tried to venture out and do something more social and play a game. I struggle with the idea of joining the voice chat, but ultimately I do. I bite the bullet, and tell this awkward story that has left me feeling emotionally frayed. Silence. And then they all return to talking about the game, as though I literally never even showed up.

I decided to just shut everything off.

Rabidly hypothesizing about failure feels just as burdensome as failure itself to me. And then I am left with objective and clear evidence that I have a grossly misunderstood understanding of my social rapport with people I would genuinely list as people I would risk showing vulnerability towards.

And the response made my lack of comprehension clear. I’ve assumed too much. I’ve tried to run before I could walk. I put the cart before the horse. I shouldn’t have bothered.

And it hurts.

One of the few times I ever really just reach out to people and I’m like, “Hey. I could use some social inclusion and empathy” and be met with responses I did runs counter to what I had hoped I was establishing for myself.

In the past, I would blame those people. I would close up. I wouldn’t share anything else. I’d as clammed up as I could be to never show vulnerability to them, or anyone, again. Dutifully so.

But I can’t blame them. Not anymore.

I’m responsible for my actions. I stuck my neck out there. I chose to run the risk. I chose to open up. I chose to be vulnerable. Those are actions that can net positive or negative consequences. It just so turned out that the consequences netted this time were negative. But I put myself out there to receive those consequences.

I didn’t look enough before I took the leap. That’s on me. That’s not on them. I took the leap, landed flat on my face, felt even more vulnerable, but I can’t regret trying. Trying to be more in touch with my humanity. Even six months ago I would have just off, but I don’t want to be that kind of person anymore.

I just have to be more selective.

Life and the universe threw a lot my way tonight. And while I would say I came away with a kicked ass, wounded pride, and a bruised ego I feel that by the end of it I will be a stronger, more resilient, and more educated person.

And that’s pretty neat.

I guess the rub is, what’s emotionally harder to deal with. Shutting down, blaming other people, or taking responsibility? The last of the 3 is the kind of person I want to be, but at least for now it feels like the most emotionally damaging because on top of all of the stress I’ve felt tonight, I ultimately only have myself to blame.

There’s no external focus. It’s all on me. I guess the hardest lessons have to be learned to make the most improvement. I don’t want to learn lessons like this for a long time to come.

Here’s to hoping.