The lasting effects of a big mouth

You all know me…fairly well, I suppose. Considering the link to this site has only been given to people who’ve already heard the “pissed my pants in high school” story, I’d say you all know me damn well.

So you know what a bigmouth I can be. Not necessarily a loud talker or a total blabbermouth (I’ve learned my lesson real well on that!), but I just don’t know when to shut up and deal. I’ve also been accused of thinking on things too much, and I suppose the two go hand in hand. Amanda ponders, Amanda ponders some more, Amanda ponders more after that…Amanda opens mouth, Amanda has verbal diarrhea, Amanda ends up apologizing profusely to the entire free world.

So it should be no surprise to you that I find myself in such a position right now. I should just make a sign that says “I’m sorry I behaved like a complete twat…again!” and hold it up while I’m talking…save me a bit of time and trouble.

I’ve been trying to address the issue a piece at a time. The over-thinking part…well. I believe that there’s got to be an absolute end-all be-all reason for everything stinky that happens…and even most good things, when it comes down to it. I have a theory that nothing ever good happens to me (trust me. it doesn’t), and so when things happen that seem good, I work them around in my head until I’ve deduced that no, something good didn’t really happen…it’s just some kind of red herring masking a true contempt for my person.

For instance, if someone tells me that they think I’m pretty (yeah…happens sooooo often!), in my head I reason that you say I’m pretty while you’re thinking ‘Goddamn you are a fatass, your face is the only thing I can stand to look at besides your tits!’ See? The “good” masking the truth.

Conversely, whenever anything bad happens, I will sit down all cross-legged on my bed and ponder and think and muddle and chew on it until I’ve come to some absolute conclusion as to why it really happened. Say you decided you didn’t like me anymore…the conclusion I would eventually come to would be that you don’t like me anymore because you never really felt anything for me in the first place, but I made you feel like you had to tell me nice things because you felt obligated to be so nice to me, but I’ve since worn you down with my incessant wheedling and preening, and you can’t take it anymore. Ha! Gotcha!

Of course…when I come up with shit like that, I get told to shut up and stop thinking to much. Which then makes me wonder “are you telling me to shut up because it’s just a pile of BS and I’m hallucinating…………..or…….is it the truth and you just don’t want to deal with me bringing it up because you’re embarrassed that I know the truth?” Ha! Gotcha again!

Yeah…so…maybe I do think too much. Ah. Well.

The overthinking tends to come after my first initial gut reaction to something. (I seem to have several gut reactions in a row, and I always act on the first one to come down the pipeline, which is usually “You’re a fuckwad!”) You know me and my “speaking before I think” habit. You say something and I immediately react, not even hesitating one second before plunging my foot knee-deep into your ass and breaking it off. Then when you leap back and clutch your torn hole and cry “OWWWW! You asshole!”, I step back and go “Oh…hang on…I need to think this over…” and I ponder. Yadda yadda. You know the drill.

There’s usually two sets of apologies to accompany any conversation, as well. I apologize for breaking my foot off in your ass, and then later apologize again for overthinking and making you feel uncomfy. Trust me, the apologies are indeed sincere. I do feel badly for the way I make my friends feel. But it does come across as rather insincere and weird, since it happens quite often. You think “If you’re so damn sorry, why do you do it again and again?”

Easy. I’m a jackass. Plain and simple. Surprised? Nay. You knew that all along, you were just too nice to say so. (Yay for overthinking again!)

And of course, along with the gut reactions, apologies, and overthinking, come the miles and miles of verbs and nouns and adjectives which I string into many many sentences like cheap plastic raver beads. WOO HOO! Shake your groove thang, baby. Amanda’s mouth is taking off again, and the sonic boom can be heard ’round the world!

I guess the deep down bottom line is…I’m neurotic? No. I’m psycho? Nah. I’m a freak? Maybe.

But really? You want an honest, no-overthinking, non-gut reaction answer?

I think I’m just very insecure and I hide myself behind a wall of words and thoughts. I am always embarrassed by the things my heart gets me into, and instead of just accepting that I won’t go through life misinterpretation-free and from time to time I will feel and look silly for thinking or saying the wrong things, I get defensive and spurt a black inky cloud of sentences and sarcasm and a healthy dash of self-deprecation, hoping to make my getaway while you’re dazed and confused by the mess.

In the end, this obviously is not the answer and never works. It really does nothing more than make you think I’m truly neurotic. And there is nothing harder to overcome than your perception of me. So maybe I should just stop trying so hard and go back to being me. Sound like a plan? Yeah…