Or words to that effect were said to me last night by the same person who a few days previously had asked if I had a mode other than sarcastic. And it hurts, it hurts lots but it’s also made me think. In fact I’ve been brooding on it for most of the intervening hours in which I’ve been conscious (albeit that hasn’t been that many, I had a NYE party to sleep off). Now don’t get me wrong, I already knew I’m a sarcy cow. I also know that it’s a fine line between that and being plain abusive and that it’s a line I don’t stay on the right side of a lot of the time particularly when tired (as I was last night, see prior NYE party comment). But hell, a lot of the time it’s downright enjoyable to twist peoples words back on them and some people even deserve the abuse. However in this case, the person who said it is one of the last people who’d deserve me being nasty to them and more than that, they’re one of the last people I’d want to be nasty to.
So, why do I do it? I know how it’s going to turn out, I’m going to cause offence, it’s going to cost me friendships and it’s going to cause me pain. It’s done so in the past and I’m damn sure it will do so again unless I change in some sort of way. The sarcasm though is my shield, my protection, it keeps the world away. It’s my entrance to social situations, my confidence booster, my other me. It gets me laughs and I enjoy that, even if these laughs are at other peoples expense. It projects an image of confidence and ease when inside my mind is screaming at me to run away while I still can. And it keeps a distance – if nobody gets to know me, if they don’t get close, then they don’t have the power to hurt me quite as much as I’ve been hurt before.
And over time it’s become me; I am Anickdaler and I am sarcastic. But at times I wish I could turn it off, just for a while and now I find that I no longer know how.