A comment to a post of mine regarding a therapy session I had got me thinking (AGAIN) about who, what, where and why of me and how I am. I also started to hyperventillate about other past issues, but that is not the point of this post.
I have done a few posts involving the “Self Portrait Challenge”. (I can’t say that I am a full on participant because, well, I am too damn dumb to figure out the little button doohickies, uploading and all that stuff. As many remember from the great Template Change Distaster of aught -six, even the simplest computer tasks are changed into a daunting marathon. )
This month’s challenge is “A Portrait of Me As…”
I got an inspiration for my photo from KAREN .
She posted as an alien and related it to how she often feels like an outsider, even amongst her close friends (Which would be me, but I have discussed this often enough with her to take zero offense or personal feelings about it. She is a well-loved Amiga.).
I am doing a slight variation.
My son took this photo at our garage sale on the 6th of June. The glasses are the blue ones you get on a dozen box of Tommy’s Doughnuts (Which are divine).
This is a Portrait of me as Defensive:
Here I am. It isn’t really what comes to mind when thinking of “Defensive”, but it is my number one shield from harm, trouble, overwhelming emotion, anger, and any other unsatisfactory or scary emotion:
Humor (And all things related to it.).
Yup. Loralee Choate doesn’t really go for arms crossed, angry, bitchy or prickly, oh, no. The armor of choice is goofy, tousled and a “Stalker of Bemidji” T-shirt.
Humor is my number one shield. I’d be dead without it, I am sure. I suppose as far as defenses go, this is one of the more pleasurable ones to be around, but it has its drawbacks. I’ve worn the clown hat for so long, I often forget to take it off…Even when it is inappropriately worn. Being inappropriate is a struggle for me.
Back to Karen and her post about feeling like an outsider. I think all of us do to some extent. I often feel like an outsider inside my own skin. How much more lonely can you feel when you don’t even like yourself as company? Don’t get me wrong, I think I am fucking fabulous on many levels.
In the end it is good and bad: I got problems. Don’t we all, though?
The thought makes me feel a little more normal, a little less lonely.