Self-Censorship (Part 1)

I talked about my recent writer's block a few posts ago. Not having the motivation to talk about anything. And while that was true there is another reason why I've been having some difficulty writing posts.

I've been censoring myself, limiting which parts of my life to say. Normally that's not an issue, I don't care about being judged by people, that's not the reason why I refrain from sharing certain details.

It's because Theresa reads my blog, and there are certain things I'd rather not have her know about.

Mmmmph!

No, I'm not having an affair or secretly a serial murderer. The kind of stories I've been holding back on are bad things that happen to me that will cause her to worry. See, Theresa and I are different in the ways we deal with problems.

When "things" hit the fan, Theresa starts to panic, becomes inconsolable, and if it's really bad, she starts crying. It doesn't matter if there's nothing she can do about it, or if everything is fixed and better, just thinking about that problem sends her into an anxiety attack. Even thinking about hypothetical problems can just as easily send her into one of these frenzies. And these worry sessions can go on for days.

And then you have me. Despite all my physical fragility, I am mentally very sound. Calm, collected and able to see clearly despite the world crumbling around me. It's one of the few talents I'm proud of. Some people might call me cold, I call it being efficient. No point worrying over something I have no control over. And in the rare situation where something does shake me up, I only need 24 hours at most to fully recover.

He who panics is dead.

An example of this is an event that happened the other day. We were going on a date and I went to her place to pick her up. Excited to finally be able to travel faster and further now that I could drive we went on our way.

And I backed into the car of her neighbor.

Not my finest moment.

Not as bad as this though.

Fortunately, no one was hurt, everyone was civil, and damages were mild. Within an hour I was over the incident and it was like it never happened. I felt fine to drive again, I realized it was a silly mistake and that accidents happen. Everything was ok now and my parents hadn't even banned me from driving.

Theresa on the other hand is still unable to get in a car with me 1 week later.

She has a mini-anxiety attack everytime I mention a car, and blames her "over-imaginative" thoughts.

So I've refrained from sharing stories that would cause her to worry about me. Because once she starts worrying, she can't and won't stop. As in, it will ruin everything for her because she feels terrible when she enters her state of worrying.

Stories like when I was almost found guilty of plagiarism on a paper 2 months ago. If I told Theresa this at the beginning, she would have worried non-stop until the issue was resolved.

But, I'll share that story on Tuesday.