Inside My Head

I am weird.

What do you mean:“I know”?

No – really – I am. The persona you see on this blog is that of a confident arse who loves to be the centre of attention, happily dealing with all the shit that is hurled in his direction, beating it aside with a big stick while saying:

 “Is that all you’ve got? Come on – gimme some more.”

The reality is something slightly different. No – come on, Dave, let’s be honest  - the reality is totally different.

Deep inside me there is an extrovert buried alive within all of the neuroses that I keep hidden from public view. The extrovert does manage to free himself every now again surfacing on this blog far more than he does in real life.

The reality of the situation is that the introvert is more prevalent, as is the shy monster.

I therefore consider myself to be an introvert with extrovert tendencies and a streak of shyness.

In my head, the extrovert and the introvert are locked in an eternal battle for domination, with the introvert being the dominant species. The shy monster is a free radical that tips the balance in the favour of one or the other depending on many other factors such as stress, depression, euphoria, alcohol, grumpiness, tiredness etc. and with all of my fears and shortcomings also joining in the melee alongside my ego, you can imagine that it gets pretty messy in my head.

Hence the reason why I think I am weird.

My daily mood, and the way people see me on a day to day basis, is governed by one of the main two protagonists and how they have fared in their latest internal conflict.

The introvert may have hurled a paranoia bomb at the extrovert and rendered him useless, turning me into a neurotic mess.

The extrovert might have exploded a rapture grenade in the faces of the shy monster and the introvert and turned me into a rampant livewire.

I can do nothing about it.

Sometimes I wake up full of the joys of spring and attack my day with a huge grin on my face and a deep desire to run up to the nearest person and inflict myself upon them.

Can you imagine a gawking loon with mad hair grinning at you with a grotesque grin on his face?

Other days, my neuroses dominate and I find myself wanting to bask in my own weirdness – like now as I write this semi-serious character assassination of myself.

Deep down we’ve all got these beasts roaming around in our minds. I know a rampant extrovert and his neuroses surface when he finds himself on his own or when he’s not the centre of attention. There is not a hint of shyness in his body. However, he sometimes struggles at social events where everyone is focussing on somebody else – for example at a wedding, when he is upstaged by the bride and groom.

He wants to shout “Look at me! Look at me! ME! ME! ME! I’M OVER HERE!!!!!” but he can’t.

Bizarrely the introvert feels slightly more comfortable in those situations. I think everybody needs some “me” time where they are on their own and can bask in their own company. I also know at least one fellow introvert and people like that generally sometimes expose themselves to social gatherings where they are surrounded by people. The difference is that they effectively “show their face” for a short while, turning up late and leaving early so that they can spend time alone later.

I’m not that bad. I love social gatherings with friends and, sometimes I love being the centre of attention – albeit briefly – before returning home later to enjoy my own company.

Note – when I say “my own company” I really mean “with Mrs PM” because she is the only person I allow into my own little world. My introvert nature includes her and I am totally happy spending my “me” time with her by my side.

That said, I can also enjoy total isolation, like now, as I type this post with only Devin Townsend’s music and a sleeping fat cat for company.

The one thing I have confused in the past are introversion and shyness. I used to tell people that I was an introvert when really I meant that I was shy. It’s only when I was at university that I discovered the difference between the two thanks to somebody who explained that liking your own company isn’t shyness.

I don’t think introversion can be beaten. Shyness can – and I am in a position now where I have almost conquered this little beast. Sadly, when I need to be alone, shyness becomes prevalent again and I am less willing to engage with new people because I want to be alone.

If you are shy, the best thing you can do is just talk to people. As uncomfortable as that sounds, believe me it works. The way I see it is that people will judge you whether you like it or not. Not every stranger is a hostile person and most people will engage. Moreover, that person may be as shy as you.

In my opinion, if a person doesn’t like me, it’s their loss because ultimately I consider myself to be a nice guy. The truth is that the vast majority of strangers are also nice people and will love talking to you. If I am feeling confident and able to talk to a stranger, I find that they will almost always talk back.

Certainly if they are an extrovert, the chances are you won’t be able to shut them up.

In conclusion, I don’t know whether having a dominant introvert beast in my head is a good thing or not. I’m certainly very happy as an introvert but I also love it when the extrovert pops up and allows me to take on the world.

Finally, dear reader, over to you.

Are you an extrovert or an introvert? Or a bit of both?

Are you shy or can you talk to anybody? 

Progressive Thoughts - Day 29

Today’s song is one of my favourites by Polish progressive rockers Riverside. It’s called Conceiving You.

The song is about a man who is watching a woman from a distance and is totally afraid to actually go and talk to her. Subsequently, he finds himself simply worshipping her from afar.

The poor fellow in the song resonates with me because when I was a shy, spotty ugly youth, I found myself unable to talk to girls that I liked. My rampant shyness was a curse and if I somehow found a nugget of courage in my deranged psyche and actually asked them out, I was destroyed when the inevitable rejection happened.

I chose to look at such girls from afar and watched in agony as other guys succeeded where I knew I would inevitably fail.

Shyness really is a curse and can be debilitating. Over the years I have all but conquered this affliction - though sometimes I am still stuck in a corner terrified to speak to strangers, beating myself up and trying to metaphorically slap my own face in order to snap myself out of the irrational fear that is disabling me mentally.

Nowadays, I consider the worst possible outcome and even then it is not that terrifying. What I have found is that I have an empathy with other shy people and when I see somebody standing uselessly in a corner trying to pluck up the courage to speak, I force myself to actually help them out.

“Hi there; I’m Dave,” I say trying to mask my own nervousness and in a lot of cases I can see a mixture of relief and pleasure that somebody has taken the time to start a chat.

On the other hand my forced efforts to chat to strangers can backfire.

Why?

Because I am a nutter magnet.

There are times when I don’t have to say anything to nutters – they come to me and inflict their strange views on me, much to the amusement of others who may be watching.

Click here to read some encounters I have had with nutters. 

Sadly, some of these encounters with nutters have been self-inflicted. One such incident involved a Manchester City fan (the blue side of Manchester) in my local pub. I was standing next to him at the bar and I just casually started a conversation.

I was with two mates, one of whom supported Manchester United (the red side of Manchester), the nutter’s fiercest rivals.

At first, it all went well.

“Who do you support?” he asked.

“Walsall,” I said proudly.

Walsall are a club that struggle two divisions below the Premiership and as such are not a threat to Manchester City at all. The nutter liked the fact that I support such a pitiable club and actually patted me on the back stating I was a true football fan. I walked back to my mates with the nutter talking to me but at that point, his true nutter identity revealed itself, prompted by my Manchester United supporting friend whom he overheard talking about their last match and how they were unlucky to lose.

The change was terrifying. This seemingly reasonable and pleasant man suddenly allowed his hatred for Manchester United to transform him from Dr Jekyll to Mr Hyde.

He turned to my mate and introduced himself with these words:

“Unlucky to lose? Your pharking red bastards have the referee in your pharking pockets!”

His tone was menacing and he spat the words out with an ill-disguised threat.

“What?” my mate said in surprise.

And then he made a mistake. He responded.

“Oh – and Manchester City are squeaky clean?”

The nutter reacted in a way that even I couldn’t have predicted.

“Shut your pharking mouth before I put you on the pharking floor!”

My mate just calmly said “Discussion over!” and thankfully the nutter left after briefly staring menacingly.

The other lad I was with looked at me and said:

“For God’s sake, Dave! Will you stop talking to strange men?”

That wasn’t the end of it.

The nutter and his mates later left but had to pass our table to do so. As he passed, he once again flipped between Jekyll and Hyde!

“Here are the GAY BOYS!” he said with a barely disguised threat.

We ignored him but then, bizarrely, he came up to me, patted me on the shoulder and with a genuine smile on his face he said.

“I hope Walsall do well, mate! Good to meet you!”

Now I almost said “Didn’t you just call me a gay boy?” but one look from my mates told me not to open my mouth again!

You see, dear reader?

I am a nutter magnet and I just wish that on this one occasion I had allowed my shyness to win a small victory.

Despicable Dave

I am going to be very regarded as very brave – or very stupid.

Why? Because I am going to hurl two posts into the blogosphere about myself.

This is the first and it describes the negative version of the Plastic Mancunian – aka Despicable Dave. I will try to address the balance with my next post – the positive version.

The idea was inspired by a song I heard recently where singer referred to his own negative version. I started thinking about how complex humans are and how our daily lives are a constant internal battle between our various personalities and flaws as they strive to reach the pinnacle and take over our bodies for a period of time.

As with other people I am a smorgasbord of weirdness; but rather than trying to identify and describe all of my weird traits, I thought I would focus on the good bits and the bad bits.

Here are the bad bits and, as you might expect if asked “What are your strengths and weaknesses?” at an interview, I will try to turn them into positives – maybe.

Paranoia

As regular readers may have guessed, I can be the personification of Marvin the Paranoid Android. I have attempted to make light of this negative trait by personifying my paranoia as an imaginary nemesis called Captain Paranoia, a nasty person who is a constant thorn in my side, telling me how useless, ugly, thick, despicable and hated I am. The sad thing is that while I may have given the impression that I ignore him, the truth is that I don’t – and he is responsible for some of my worst decisions, my lack of bravery and giving strength to my shyness (see later).

The good news is that with age, I genuinely care less, so Captain Paranoia’s voice is weaker and I do ignore him more and more.

Nevertheless, he still catches me me out sometimes and I kick myself for my weakness.

Shyness

I may have given regular readers the impression that I have taken my shyness by the scruff of its neck, shaken it about a bit, and kicked it into the middle of next week.

The truth is that deep down I am still painfully shy and every day is a battle to force myself to be brave. I have techniques that do genuinely work when I feel courageous; the problem is that more often than not I will walk away rather than talking to a stranger and, when faced with the prospect of, say, walking into a pub full of strangers, the “fight or flight” reflex turns into “flight” – and I run away.

I am deeply aware that had I been a rampant extrovert, who could waltz into a room full of strangers and charm each and every one of them, my life would have taken a very different path.

In retrospect, I can’t imagine what that would have been like. Shyness has made me what I am today – and it’s not all bad. I am quite content despite this flaw in my personality, perhaps because over the years having extrovert friends and a little bravery have steered me somewhere in that general direction.

Also, my job, as much as I curse it sometimes, has helped me considerably – an ally against shyness.

Who would have though it?

Grumpiness

While I thrive on my ability to have a good rant and entertain the troops, I am aware that this self-indulgent desire to put the world to rights is not everybody’s cup of tea.

I ignore that and carry on regardless. People who know me well are often entertained – at first. Yet sometimes I don’t know when to stop and start to become annoying. Mrs PM has pointed this out on a couple of occasions.

I know that sometimes I can be a stubborn arsehole and when I am stubborn AND grumpy I can be infuriating, particularly when the target of my wrath is a subject that somebody who is listening feels strongly about, and when I get carried away, one or two people have started disagreeing and I have noticed that the grumpy rant becomes an embryonic argument.

I like to get things off my chest; I wear my heart on my sleeve and while a grumpy rant may be therapeutic (and it really is, dear reader), I sometimes need to step back from the precipice and turn it into a joke.

And I do – usually at my own expense – which helps matters considerably.

Procrastination

A year or two ago I declared war on procrastination. I am losing the war. For a while I actually started to arrange my days so that I could somehow schedule the writing of a novel.

I failed.

I know why I failed – writing fiction is hard – extremely hard. I can sit here at my desktop and write utter gibberish to post on a pathetic blog but trying to invent a story that is captivating, interesting and compelling with colourful characters, a wonderful plot with subtle twists and turns, that finishes leaving the reader wanting more, is very difficult.

I tried sitting there and writing it – but then I found myself doing other stuff like surfing the internet, listening to music – even doing the washing and ironing or hoovering to avoid the pain of trying to get some fiction on paper.

Sadly, the tendrils of procrastination have invaded other parts of my life too and I have on occasion simply ignored things that I have set myself to do – like writing a blog post.

I know I can beat this; at work I am very meticulous, planning everything I do, setting myself targets and generally achieving them.

So why can’t I do this at home?

The war continues.

Indecision

A standing joke between Mrs PM and me is that I am a Libran and therefore totally indecisive.

To a certain extent she is right and sometimes for her, a woman who is impulsive and slightly impatient, giving thought to decisions can be infuriating.

Whether it really is a negative trait is something I debate about. I am very careful and will generally not leap into something without first considering the pros and cons of it. The problem arises when I take too long to come to a decision.

Usually, however, the decision I make is the right one but that is little consolation if it has taken me over a week to reach a satisfactory conclusion.

I can’t ever see myself improving either, because I simply cannot just do something that appears to be right at first glance, without considering the possible outcomes.

Any More?

The answer is, of course, a resounding YES.

As humans, none of us are perfect. Some people think they are but they are wrong. We all have a bad side and I think that if you accept that negativity then you can go some way to improving yourself.

I have listed five of my negative traits but there are many more. I’m sure that if you asked my friends and family, or spent an hour discussing my bad points with Mrs PM, you would have enough notes to be able to write a book what a despicable person I am.

The truth is I am not despicable at all. My next post will hopefully provide some balance because, when I think about it, I am quite happy and content with myself – despite my flaws.

So there!

Over to you dear reader.

What are your negative traits? 

Are you prepared to admit to them in a comment on a blog written by a mad arsehole who lives in Manchester? 

I hope so – go on – be a devil!

The Flirt

When I was young free and single I often wondered why women used to punch me in the face.

Now, however, I know why: I think I may be a flirt.

Being a flirt is big trouble particularly if, like me, you have a face like that of an exceptionally ugly baboon (though some would say that I am more like the rear end).

I have always envied those handsome guys who can walk up to a woman, flash their most striking smile and capture her heart without saying a word. I’m more likely to make her flee the vicinity as fast as she can, screaming at the monster who has just leered at her.

Life has been difficult for me with women: I’ve had to overcome shyness, having crazy hair and a face that could scare elephants. As a young man, when I approached women and smiled, they usually passed out in pure terror. It was soul-destroying.

Yet despite this, I’ve managed to at least become friends with members of the fairer sex and have been in two long term relationships since my early 20’s.

Before that, however, when a woman talked to me, I assumed that she fancied me. This would inevitably lead me to subconsciously start flirting with her and, fuelled by her kindness or by too much alcohol, I would overstep the mark. Some women simply walked away, others refused to speak to me again. I imagine that being groped by a drunken orang-utan isn’t the most pleasant experience. Others turned to violence and battered me with the nearest blunt object.

I could never get the balance right and I never understood why. You see, I never thought I was a flirt, even when a woman was pounding my face with a cricket bat screaming “STOP FLIRTING WITH ME YOU GROTESQUE GORILLA”.

And of course the beatings have made my situation worse. Every time a woman kicked my face in, I acquired a higher degree of repulsiveness – it was as if I was being hit repeatedly with an ugly stick. My face mutated into a something horrific; I would catch a sight of myself in the mirror the next morning and frighten myself half to death before I realised that the reflection was me having been savaged by an irate victim of my flirtatious nature.

Over the years, I have become older (obviously) and wiser (less obvious). Having a steady girlfriend helped, of course, and since then I have reacted to women in a different way. I still try to make them laugh and ask probing questions in an attempt to understand them but I certainly don’t overstep the mark. Thankfully the beatings have effectively been reduced to zero and until fairly recently I believed this was due to my devotion to my partner. You see I didn’t think I was a flirt.

That all changed a few years ago when I was told by a female friend that I am definitely a flirt. We were talking about astrology and I said “I’m a Libran. I’m supposed to be indecisive and balanced.”

“Librans are also flirts,” she said. “And you flirt all the time.”

“Me? A flirt?” I said incredulously. “I am the opposite of a flirt.”

She then told me that I had basically flirted with her a number of times over the years I had known her. I was speechless and horrified.

“When? When exactly did I flirt with you? Name one single occasion!”

She told me that she had lost count. I was mortified.

“You don’t do it so much now,” she said quickly, trying to make me feel better. It didn’t work. I recalled those awful slaps and beatings that I had received as a young goon and it all began to make a weird kind of sense.

But am I a flirt? What are the signs of flirting for a man like me? Does my body language change? Here are a couple of ways that a man might flirt:

(1) Eye contact - staring into the eyes of a woman while having a conversation. I am shy but when I get to know a person I tend to do this, particularly with women.

(2) Touching – looking back, this is probably the reason I was frequently beaten up by women. I’ve always had the tendency to put my arm around female friends, touch them briefly on the shoulder or arm. This is not intentional; this is who I am. Even today after a few beers I will put my arm around mates, both female and male.

(3) Show that I am an alpha male – I am definitely not an alpha male; however, I have noticed this behaviour in others, particularly in pubs or social occasions when there are women involved. If a man fancies a women he will subconsciously make himself seem to be bigger and stronger than he is. I can’t see me ever being guilty of that – maybe I’m wrong.

(4) Complements – I see nothing wrong with complementing a woman but on occasion I have gone way over the top. For example I once said: “I’m not coming on to you but you are absolutely gorgeous.” I had had a couple of beers and she was a friend of a friend and about half my age. She thanked me politely and then turned away, much to the amusement of my mates. I have to say in my defence that it was a genuine complement and I definitely was not trying to chat her up. Had I been fully compis mentis I wouldn’t have said a word.

So am I really a flirt? I could try asking a female friend I suppose: “Am I flirting with you?”

The only problem is that she might say “YES YOU ARE!” and then slap my face.

So how about you, dear reader? Do you flirt? Have you been the target of a baboon-like flirt?

As for me, I’ve now decided to stop that nonsense; the self-examination I mean. If I flirt then so be it. I’ve just got to make sure that I wear full protection when I am out with female friends.

The Curse Of Shyness

I have a shocking confession: I am a very shy person.

I know that there will be people out there who know me and will say:

“WHAT? You may be many things but you are DEFINITELY NOT shy!”

If you think that then you are definitely wrong. I have lived with this debilitating condition ever since I can remember. Even when I was born, from the very moment I popped out my mother, I cried because I was entering a world of complete strangers. My mum was a stranger and so was the midwife – and when my dad walked in the room to see his first born, I screamed in terror.

I have suffered as a consequence of my introversion.

I was the child who hid behind his mother.

I was the teenager who preferred to sit in his room than go outside.

I was the student who stood alone like a lemon at parties. It was ironic really that I was lonely in a crowded room full of people who were enjoying themselves.

Don’t get me wrong – I did have friends; the only problem was that I really had to work hard at acquiring them. I relied heavily on fearless people who would talk to anybody, particularly those who would talk to me. I envied folks who could simply walk up to others and say things like “Hi, I’m Mike. What do you do?”

I found myself hanging around rampant extroverts, those who had no qualms about talking to me. Even then, it was difficult because I didn’t know what to say to them. I am thankful that they persevered and managed to unlock the real me from my self-inflicted prison. You see, once they got to know the real me, the person inside the shell, they actually liked what they found. When I become a friend to somebody, there is a bond between us that never breaks.

I realised that I had a problem and the desire to overcome that problem was more important than the fear generated by it. The turning point for me came at university. In my first year, I was invited to parties by extrovert friends, possibly because they realised I was horrifically shy and thought that the combination of atmosphere, young like-minded people and alcohol would allow me to break out of my shell naturally. The first few parties were terrifying. It was like being asked to leap from the top of the Eiffel Tower wearing nothing but a fig leaf (I would have preferred to have done that to be honest).

At those parties I would find myself lost in a room full of strangers, all of whom were happily talking to others and completely ignoring me. I may as well have been invisible – at least then I could have had some fun. I was the solitary person stood in the corner desperate to hear from anybody. People thought I was aloof and weird. I would drink a large amount of alcohol in order to pluck up the courage to chat; the problem was that I would then butt into a conversation and say something totally inappropriate or just plain stupid and all this with a totally slurred voice. I would be dismissed as a goon and pushed aside like a piece of crap. Inevitably I would often leave the party in disgrace. My ego took a real pounding at that time of my life.

I couldn’t understand how people could actually simply walk up to complete strangers and start a conversation. I would rather have had all of my teeth extracted with a sledgehammer than talk to somebody I didn’t know. I even found it difficult to walk into a place full of strangers just to meet a friend. If I had arranged to meet a mate in a pub, for example, I would be late on purpose, just so that I didn’t have to sit down on my own waiting for them. And then I gained a reputation for always being late.

I decided to fight back. I still had a couple of years of university left and I was determined to make the most of them. I began to study more than just the academic course I was on; I started studying other people, particularly those fearless warriors who slap the face of introversion into submission. These guys had no shame and most importantly they had no fear. They would simply say the first thing that came into their heads as an ice-breaker – and ninety percent of the time it worked. There were occasions when they were slapped back but, because they had skins thicker than an elephant pie, it had absolutely no effect. The kind of people I am talking about are those who volunteer to be made an exhibition of themselves and don’t fear the consequences.

I decided to try my hand at being extrovert. I became two people.

The first was “Real Me”, the person who was still shy, still terrified and still scared to open my mouth in public. The second was a person who the complete opposite, the person who laughed in the face of shyness and used it as a punch bag. I began to grab every opportunity to meet new people with both hands. When I was in the company of close friends I was still “Real Me”, the “me” who had popped out of the shell of shyness. Close friends knew the real me so I didn’t have to pretend to be somebody else. However, when I was invited to a party or had to be in a scenario where I had to talk to strangers, I became “The Extrovert”.

I saw “The Extrovert” as a different person, somebody I admired, and somebody who had the courage to explode into a room and enthral everybody present with his charm, wit and amazing repartee. “The Extrovert” was great. Almost everybody loved him and he could do anything.

And it actually worked - sometimes. After a summer off, I started my second year at university and was invited to a party. I arrived with friends but I took it upon myself to march into a room where I knew nobody whatsoever. I unleashed “The Extrovert” for the first time and said, “Go and do your stuff.”

I was fuelled by a little alcohol, but I did it. I walked up to a group of three guys chatting and said “Hi I’m Dave. I’ve come with Chris. Is this your party?” And they actually started chatting to me. In the end, it was one of the most enjoyable parties I’d been to. “The Extrovert” broke the ice and as I chatted to these three guys “Real Me” came out and “The Extrovert” rode off into the sunset like the Lone Ranger.

I made three new friends on my own without anybody else having to make an effort. Now to most people that would have been as natural as going to the toilet. I can imagine extroverts reading this and saying “D’UH!!! Doesn’t everybody do that? Are you some kind of freak?” To me, however, it was a major, and I mean MAJOR achievement

It was an epiphany. It was liberating. It changed my life.

Of course, after I left university and joined the rat race, I simply had to change. Given what I do now, the shy version of me would have a seizure. I travel a fair amount but the thought of flying to Switzerland on my own would have filled me with absolute dread. Even the thought of sitting in a restaurant on my own would be a nightmare for that shy person. It’s absolutely true. He would rather skewer his eyeballs than ask for a table for one in a German-speaking restaurant. However, I do this all the time. I call on “The Extrovert” to do the honours and then I can relax and send him on his way.

It doesn’t work all the time. I am still afraid to be perfectly honest. There are times when I find myself in a situation that chills me to the bone. I stutter, break into a cold sweat and have enough adrenalin flooding around my body to make me take off in flight. But I breathe deeply, smile and face the issue in front of me. It works, most of the time.

I still don’t like walking into a pub on my own either, but I bite the bullet and do it. I prefer to face the fear than be regarded as unreliable. It’s the same with public speaking. I’ve posted about this in the past, and, although I still have the urge to run screaming from the room, I let “The Extrovert” tell me “What’s the worst that can happen?” before unleashing him on the people I have to present to. Sometimes he fails, most of the time he succeeds.

You may read this post and think that there is a lot of bravado and that I have succeeded in conquering my affliction.

I haven’t.

I am still fundamentally shy. I still feel uncomfortable walking into a room of strangers, and sometimes, depending on my level of self-esteem, I will sit in a corner for a while speaking to nobody. Sadly there are still times when I am alone in a crowded room. The difference now, though, is that I know that I can talk to people if I want to. If I have a moment of supreme confidence I can walk into a room of strangers and become the life and soul of the party.

Are you shy, dear reader? If so, have you taken steps to try to fight this monster within? I’d be interested to know. Or are you a raging extrovert with no shame? If so, how do you do what you do?

As I said, people who know me don’t think I’m shy at all. They have seen me walk into a room full of strangers and charm the shoes off people. They have also seen me make a fool of myself in front of people I don’t know and then they have watched me laugh about it without a trace of fear.

They see “The Extrovert”. And thankfully, they also see the real me basking in his wake.