I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. Mind you, it’s not of the book variety but of the on-line variety, mostly concerning the characters in the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney games and more specifically about one character in particular: Miles Edgeworth, a prosecutor with a stick up his butt and emotional issues out the ass. Uh, sorry about the odd imagery there, but had you any idea just how analy I’ve been reading these stories, you’d understand. 😉 Regardless, it has been interesting to read about a character who is so thoroughly closed off from those around him, both emotionally and physically retreating from being touched by anyone. It suddenly occurred to me just the other night exactly why I love this character so much: I may as well be reading about a male version of myself, wearing a magenta suit with a white cravat. (Google him and you’ll find images to explain the description. I’m feeling far too lazy to link/post them myself.)

Honestly, I’ve always known that I’m emotionally…distanced from most people to the point where many believe I have two emotions: on and off. At work, I’m almost always on: chipper, happy, helpful, optimistic, pleasant, supportive, and even playful. The rare exception being when I don’t feel well like the migraine I had about a week and a half ago, leaving everyone to worry that I was about to collapse at the front desk. Even to the people closest to me (Ian remaining an exception to this until I explain our relationship later) such as friends and family, I find myself perpetually working to keep a smile on my face, a joke on my lips, and a laugh in my throat. It’s not disingenuous; I honestly am happy to be with these people and feel no compunction at my attempts to remain in high spirits around them and for them. I suppose therein lies the falsehood, that I’m perpetually fine and therein also lies what has been nagging at the corners of my mind for the past month that I’ve been reading on-line fiction about Miles Edgeworth: I really am quite emotionally detached when it comes to dealing with other people. Sometimes I wonder if others notice this. I suspect not because if for nothing else, I am still easy to get along with, but the thought–now in my head–lurks in my mind.

I’m not an affectionate person. Strike that, I’m only affectionate when I initiate it. This realization also occurred to me while reading about my favorite stick-in-the-mud character. It hadn’t really occurred to me much, but I do find that others are far more willing to put a hand on each other’s shoulders, touch someone’s arm, sit a little closer, bump into each other, or even hug than I am. It’s strange. When I’m touched unexpectedly, it’s almost like being struck. I tense up and find myself to be much more uncomfortable even before I realize why my face is burning and my nerves are jangling. But if I pat someone on the back or lay a hand on their arm, it doesn’t affect me. I’m not saying that I shy away from every moment of physical contact with another person, but the more conscious I am of it, the more off-putting it is. It’s hard to describe, really. Actually, I tried to describe it to Ian–one of the only people who’ll ever see the wide range of my expanisive range of emotions–and he not only understood what I was saying, he already knew about it. In fact, he pointed out one of my behaviorisms that I had never considered before. I have the tendancy, without consciously being aware of it, to locate myself in the farthest corner of a room, and there make my little den or nest to do my work, crafts, reading, what-have-you, and then in making myself more difficult to reach, I surround myself with obstacles: my laptop desk which blocks off half of the loveseat, shoes, bags, and books on the floor around the only other way to reach me, and papers, crafts, and more books on the seat beside me as if daring anyone to try and so much as sit near me. It’s like a child’s fort without having to remove the cusions from the couch or drape blankets across furniture. The barriers between me and the outside world are almost a gauntlet, daring anyone to even try to get close enough to me to touch, and then should they be determined enough to do so, I let them more willingly. Ian puts up with this every day. He has to fight just to get close enough to kiss me in my fort, but I’m more than willing to shower him with affection when he’s at his desk or working in the kitchen. It’s not enough that I’m emotionally closed off; I seem to feel the need to physically separate myself as well. Fascinating.

All in all, I haven’t even got a clue as to whether I care enough about this to try and change this aspect of myself. I’ve always been like this, for as long as I can remember, and I don’t see how it’s interfering with my life–the only criterion I cling to when it comes to deciding between forcing myself to do mental gymnastics or just let it alone. Sure, it would be nice not to flinch whenever someone touches me unexpectedly–well, and sometimes even when it’s expected, but I’m not letting it get in the way of my interpersonal relationships at work or at home. Ian is obviously fine with this, even if he does grumble from time to time about how hard it is to reach me sometimes–physically and emotionally. After all, he has been with me for twelve years. He would have left me before now if my quirky and strange nature disturbed him so much. I guess I’m just thinking about it because of all the reading I’ve been doing. It popped into my head more forcefully when I realized that I was giving some of my books’ characters a similar trait or similar habits. I suppose that by putting this to words, it helps me to understand some of my reactions and predilections in writing style… In the end, it’s really just another strange trait I’ve acquired somewhere along the way that makes me who I am. I can’t really imagine being any other way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go plant some kisses on my husband and then return to my sanctuary on the loveseat where I’ll either read more stories about my favorite stick-in-the-mud prosecutor or work on my romance novel and write about how Nick freaks when he’s touched and doesn’t expect it. I lead an interesting life, if I do say so myself…from my couch fort. 😉