Another long but fruitful day of yoga training completed.
I got back into the flow, worked muscles I didn’t know existed, and in a couple of days time will be back on a normal balanced diet, and this incessant urge to shit all the time should go away. Please God. Seriously,this macrobiotic yin and yang malarky is all very well, but I don’t want to chew my rice (or anything else for that matter) 100 times before swallowing, I love sugar and dairy, I like so called ‘nightshade’ vegetables thank you, and producing huge coils of poo three or four times a day can’t be right, can it?
It was strange going back to this group as I wasn’t given that friendly a reception initially, as during the last session there was a little incident where I felt (and was actually) judged harshly which caused me to panic, and as a defence mechanism, I shut down and probably appeared very cold and aloof which did not create a very nice atmosphere. I don’t do it on purpose, but when I feel maligned and rejected, I reject back hard. I was so disappointed because I thought I’d found my clan, a safe place where I could feel at home and free to be myself. Myself, it appears, is an acquired taste and acceptance in such circles appears to come at a price; complete acquiescence.
So suffice to say, I was very guarded and cautious when I arrived at the yoga venue the other day.
I can’t say I was met with open hostility because I wasn’t, but I wasn’t embraced as warmly as the other participants, and there was a certain distance between myself and the teachers.
Then I remembered.
I had rejected their Guru when I did not let him stay in my home that time, and I was also stupid enough to confide in him about my illness. No doubt he shared both experiences with his generals if you will, so that would explain the tangible wariness I sensed.
Then again, I am as paranoid as fuck so I could be wrong; but I don’t think so.
I was dosed up on the highest dose of meds in anticipation of this, but I naturally still wanted to get in my car and leg it. I went to the loo, and as per Aunty C’s advice, tried to channel my ‘Good Parent’.
Sitting on the plastic seat, bare feet rapidly cooling on the tiles, I hissed ‘They really don’t like me now! I knew I should have let their bloody Messiah stay! And they know I’m ill! They’ll have a field day with that!’
‘Now you listen ‘ere’, screeched GP, a la Monty Python, making me jump, ‘he’s not the Messiah, he’s a very naughty boy!’
I grinned inwardly despite myself, thinking how ridiculous it all was. WTF? How do I get in these situations? I’m a paying customer, I didn’t ask to be part of this Woodstock Hippy ‘my house is your house’ shit, just fucking teach me yoga bitches, manage your expectations and block book your hotels on LastMinute.com!
‘Exactly!’ soothed GP, ‘just go out there, learn what you came to learn, interact with them as much or as little as you want and don’t feel any further obligation to them. Allow yourself to be you! You deserve it. Everyone does.’
‘Why can’t I be normal? Why do I always have to be the odd one out?’
‘You can’t control the way that people feel about you. You can only control your response to it. Be yourself and fuck them if they choose not to accept you exactly as you are.’
Girding myself, I left that lavvy head high, entered into the lessons, and half way though this block of sessions, apart from the odd eye roll at something I said and a few barbed comments, I have survived to date. Oh and the little impromptu homily post shavasana about how the mind plays tricks on us and it’s the same for everyone. How topical.
What also didn’t help is that I discovered something I have long suspected and that is that I could be perceived as a story topper.
When people are around a table, in a pub, having a gossip, they trade stories. I love to trade stories and because I have a lot of life experience I have a lot of stories, and when you are as isolated and solitary as I, when you have an audience, you kind of get a bit nerdily over excited and all the untold tales and anecdotes tumble out of your mouth lest you never get an opportunity to tell them again.
I guess it is true that there are people who just have to be the best at everything, that always have the best wedding, the most successful husband, the biggest house, the newest BWM, the most intelligent cherubic kids, but if you have been reading this blog, you can make a pretty safe bet that I am not one of them. I’m not the best at anything.
Not that long ago, I watched this year’s Celebrity Big Brother which featured ex model Paula Hamilton. She seemed, it has to be said, very hard work to be around and live with, and she did tend to try and out anecdote everyone, but whilst everyone saw her as a sad old story topper, I saw a lonely, solitary, strong but isolated woman, desperate to be liked, to be accepted, and to make friends and positive changes in her life. She also had mental health problems and is routinely dismissed as an eccentric, annoying, menopausal nutter in the tabloid press.
Not wanting to be tarred with the same harsh, super judgemental brush (says Judge fucking Judy herself ;-)), I try hard to contain myself and calm down the hyper, manic side of me when I’m in new company and to not get too carried away, but it is a challenge when you enjoy making people laugh and try to take advantage of participating in camaraderie and conviviality whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Plus, it could be argued that the person who accuses you off this, could also be suffering from the same condition :-).
So if you will humour me just this once, I’d like to ask you a favour; the next time you’re at a gathering and someone gets on your nerves because they seem to be telling one too many stories or anecdotes, before you give them short strift or bitch about them behind their back, you might want to consider that they just want to be your friend and part of your group, and if you explore that opportunity and get to know them, they might just calm the fuck down and be more bearable to be around.
In the meantime I might just open the first branch of ‘Story Toppers Anonymous’, invest in a job lot of earplugs and throat lozenges, some comfy armchairs, cushions and blankets, burn some midnight oil and make me some big bucks and a whole lot of people very, very happy.