When you’re a nerd that has been raised by nerds (instead of being self-taught) it’s not surprising that you come across certain struggles when trying to interact with the rest of the world. It feels like your entire existence is a prolonged effort in trying to fit in with the cool kids at school. It’s like a constant personality culture shock. You can’t change the environment you were raised in as much as someone can’t help the colour hair they were born with.

 

If I were to give you brief, rundown of my upbringing stats it’d go like this;

Mum: member of MENSA, lived in the Far East in the early 80s, was a PA who then went on to run a computer engineering company, is scary good at maths, can read a book overnight, artistic, and an amazing cook

Dad: in the Who’s Who of Architecture, loves music of all forms, plays guitar, likes trains, stupidly artistic, enjoys walking, huge fan of cinema, Tolkein and Pratchett geek, loves history, and is an excellent drinker.

Sister: Tennis and lacrosse extraordinaire, fifteen years my senior, amazing at playing the piano, also plays the guitar, oh and the flute as well, introduced me to Madonna and Guns and Roses, had an awesome 80s perm, loves Snoopy and Garfield, used to play Sega Megadrive with me, took me on fun trips out in her car, and she’s always been monstrously successful at everything she’s done

I had the perfect upbringing and I couldn’t have wished for a more amazing and loving group of people to have raised me.

If I think back really hard I honestly think the first film I remember watching was Star Wars; it was everything to me. Princess Leia was the only princess I knew or cared about, Han Solo was my hero, and I wanted to be Boba Fett when I grew up. After that it was Indiana Jones, Ghostbusters, Back to the Future, and Batman. I watched everything my dad and sister would watch, they were open-minded enough to let me enjoy everything available to me. I’d sit and watch Blackadder and Red Dwarf, probably the reason I developed a dark and weird sense of humour so early on.

I was the weird kid who was out of time with everyone else her age. Save for my best friend, Sophie who practically lived in our house (and I in hers), she’s my soul mate and because we shared in each other’s upbringings we are the same. I got bullied and teased at school because I was so glaringly different.

In secondary school I found a group of girls who all shared the same quirky view on life that I did. There was my friend from prep school, Cat, and then there was Jeni, and Sarah. We became the weird goth kids who sat at the back of the class talking about programs like the Young Ones and Monty Python, we obsessed over bands like The Who and the Sex Pistols, and when Jeni managed to track down a VHS copy of A Clockwork Orange we knew we’d reached the height of rebellious cool (even if no one else knew wtf we were on about).

The safe environment we created for ourselves protected us and because we were all into the same weird shit as each other we all felt a little less lonely.

Then we all went our separate ways and (nervously) entered the world.

I scurried off to the University of Liverpool to study something super nerdy, Classics! Now, to me this was something I had never considered to be an unheard of subject, why would it be? Classics is the original degree. I came from a school that taught compulsory Latin and we did Classics at A-Level, I had learnt about Greek Myths and Roman history my whole life. My nerd brain would twitch with confusion when someone would say, “What’s that? Is that like music?”. I’d blink heavily and tell them that would, in fact, be a music degree. After a while I switched to just telling everyone I did Archaeology and was more than happy with being told I was “just like Indiana Jones”.

When it came to going out into the big scary world of adulting (adj: to do adult stuff) I was faced with the challenge of trying to function when not surrounded by like-minded people.

I learnt very quickly that what I considered to be common knowledge, you know the stuff you just know, wasn’t present in everyone else. Conversely, people realised very quickly that I wasn’t normal and it was like school all over again. I felt really isolated. What was to blame? Was it my upbringing, my intelligence, the type of schools I went to, my friends, or was it just me in general? I got by on talking about TV and fashion, easy!

Probably the most bizarre issue and difference in upbringing I was surprised to find I had was travelling, as in holidays. Growing up we would always go to our chalet in Switzerland for skiing in the winter. My dad threw a pair of skis on me as soon as I could stand up. In the summer we would go between the Lake District, Scotland, and Europe; we’d spent a few summers going to Spain and touring the mainland; staying at each Parador along the way. We never did holidays where you sat next to a pool for ten days and did fuck all; to this day the idea makes me feel sullied and unusual. I struggle to comprehend it when someone returns from holiday and upon being asked how it went all they talk about is how good the hotel was – personally, I don’t see the point in that kind of holiday, but it’s each to their own I guess. I’m 100% certain that there are people reading this, livid, because they think not moving from the confines of a hotel for a week is bliss and they can’t understand why I go on holiday to get up early every day and explore every inch of the place, visit all the museums, and learn all I can. I see each trip abroad as an insight into the beautiful and fascinating world we live in. I’ve walked through the Alhambra Palace, climbed mountains in Nepal, and stayed in a 17th Century castle amongst countless other wonderful things.

I feel my eclectic and eccentric personality hinder me. I wish I could be the fascinating and vibrant person everyone wants to invite over for dinner; like a Stephen Fry knock-off. Unless I’m in the right company, I have learnt to keep my mouth shut when I notice a reference to something, whether it be subtle or blatantly obvious, because I can’t stand the absent look of “oh, right” after I have to sit there are explain myself. How is it possible for people to make me feel stupid for knowing something? I don’t know, but they manage to. I never feel clever or proud for knowing anything, I find myself feeling ostracised for having a wider knowledge; it’s as if I can hear the angry mob coming to burn me as a witch, “she knows things we don’t, she’s not normal!”.

I’m not ashamed by my interests, upbringing, and education. I would much rather be enlightened and standing outside the cave than sat inside looking at the shadows (there’s a reference in there btw).

Even though I’ve been in the grown up world for years now, I still don’t feel like I fit in. I have my small group of friends who are equally as nerdy and weird as I am, but when someone says you should maybe avoid using words like ‘Sisyphean’ in your emails at work because nobody knows what it means, you’re swiftly knocked back down. Or the time when I was bellowed at by a woman who was having a fight with the photocopier after I told her it wasn’t working because Skynet had become self-aware and it was rebelling against us.

As I’ve said, being a pedigree nerd isolates you and I’ll always be branded as “weird” (said in a negative tone), BUT when a nerd finds another nerd it’s magic, and we can enjoy everything the world offers us.

 

For some of us, myself included, it is very rare that we share a photo of anything without editing it beforehand. Filtering selfies and pictures of our belongings to within an inch of their life is something we all seem to care very much about; it’s vastly important to ensure any photograph we share on social media is like something straight out of Italian Vogue.

I don’t think it is arrogance, at least not the majority of the time. I feel it is something that is rooted more in sadness than egotism which drives us to share pictures of anything and everything we are/own. We feel the need to fit in and social media has made us all feel that we need to portray this image of a perfect, successful, and happy lifestyle. We are all subconsciously competing with one another, and we need to make sure everything is wonderful in order to satisfy our inner feelings of insufficiency and fears of being an underachiever.

Now, speaking as someone who collects mental health disorders like they’re Pokemon, I can honestly say that the highly filtered social media image is a double edged sword of existential pain and happiness.

If you take a look at my Instagram account you’d think everything was hunky-dory and that I was super happy; not only with the things in my life, but also with myself. Well, here’s the sitch, I’m not! I’m filled with so much self-loathing and the feelings of anger, disgust, and shame when I look in the mirror are off the chart. I hate my physical appearance and I’m never happy with the way I look. I’m short, fat, I’ve got red hair, and someone once described me as “dumpy”; all I’m missing is a beard and I’d be a dead ringer for Gimli from The Lord of the Rings! Despite this, my social media accounts are littered with pictures of yours truly. So, if I hate myself so much, why would I share this loathsome appearance with complete strangers from all over the world, why would I want them to see me? Shouldn’t I be hiding my malformed ass away in a bell tower somewhere in Paris, where I belong?

Well, because I can take cleverly angled pictures and add the odd filter here and there, I can show people a shadow of what I could look like. I can look slimmer if I take a selfie in the mirror and position myself a certain way and a filter successfully hides the fact that I’m dead behind the eyes.

Once a photo has been posted the likes start coming in. We all know that even though your photo is a little white lie and you know deep down you don’t really look like that, it feels good to know your photo has been greeted by so much positivity and your ego is boosted a little.

Now, as a crazy person who lives alone and finds she talks to herself a lot, it’s not often a compliment is thrown my way. In fact, outside of likes social media and the rare occasion I see a human being socially, I just get insults cast upon me…..from myself…..constantly….. Am I so shallow that I feel the need for a compliment every now and then, for someone to acknowledge the way I look in a nice way compared to the daily berating I give myself? Is it so pathetic to feel better about yourself when those likes hit double figures? Yes. It is. For most of us that’s all we have to work with; we might be alone, some might have partners who don’t express themselves and despite thinking you’re the most amazing creature on the planet they don’t tell you, and there are the ones who see a troll staring back at us when we look in the mirror (me).

Taking a good selfie and editing it does make you feel better, but it also leads to something else I have found. Since we only see ourselves in the mirror, and our beautifully edited pictures, it scares the living shit out of you when you see yourself in a photo someone else has taken! When you see what you truly look like!

Some people are lucky enough to have friends, partners, family members, and even strangers who are kind when taking a photo of them. They’ll take it from the right angle and actually make the effort to ensure you look less like a potato in drag. Sadly, I don’t think I know anyone like this; the only people I know are the types who vaguely waft the camera in your general direction whilst taking a picture. Any photo that I am ‘not in control of’ leads to a horrifying revelation – I REALLY DO look as shit as my brain tells me! I’ve been lied to by every reflective surface I’ve ever encountered! How is it that you can sometimes look ok in the mirror, look ok when you look down at yourself from your own perspective, and look ok walking past a shop window, but when someone takes a picture of you the truth is captured, you look like this horrendous fat mess that needs to be put under house arrest with immediate effect until Gok Wan can be helicoptered in to give emergency assistance. It is because of this that I will refuse as often as possible whenever anyone offers to take my picture, and when it can’t be avoided I don’t want to see the result! My demons get worse when I see a true image of myself.

I like to hide behind my nice selfies that are me, but not really me. In my head that’s what I now look like and it’s like a pictorial safety blanket. It’s not the healthiest option when trying to tackle a crippled self-esteem, but it’s the modern way, apparently.

A dilapidated feeling of self-worth is an affliction I have always carried, being an underachiever armed with fierce intellect is frustrating (omg did you see that, I almost said something good about myself). I am the most unsuccessful creature out of everyone I’ve ever known, the black sheep of my affluent family. Ask me what I’m proud of and I’ll be unable to give you an answer; well, that’s a lie, if you catch me on a good day I’ll be able to proudly tell you, “I haven’t cried today”.

Social media is the gift that keeps on repeatedly smacking you in the face with how shit your life is.

I would say that the constant battle we seem to have with everyone in our lives, nay, the world(!) to have this Hallmark life and wonderful image of ourselves shared across the internet is unhealthy; it feeds our insecurity and makes us less satisfied with what we have both physically and materially. It’s just the next level on the scale of unhappiness and I’ve evolved my misery. As someone who already possessed a loathsome view of herself it’s hard for those on the outside to imagine how it could possibly get worse, but it does.

It is no secret that I have been successfully single and perpetually lonely for a long while now.

Sadly, the time we live in means that pretty much every aspect of our life is played out on the internet. We connect, catch up, make arrangements, and see people all from the comfort of our home – usually under a blanket on the couch looking like turd.

We can tell our mum all how about how people we went to school with are getting on, despite the fact we haven’t physically seen or spoken to them in over a decade; all thanks to the wonders of the internet.

Because of this it is now impossible to meet new people the old fashioned way. I have a couple of friends on facebook who I randomly met on nights out and we’ve become good Facebook friends, but these are people I met years and years ago, before we became even more heavily relient on the internet for ALL social interaction.

If someone you didn’t know tried to talk to you in a pub or a shop the chances are you’d freak out and think they were weird and trying to kidnap you. It’s sad that the old school way of making friends and forming relationships has now become so alien the majority of us perceive it to be sinister and creepy.

For those of us who are entering the realm of being “too old for this shit” and teetering on the edge of accepting the fact you’re going to die alone surrounded by 12 cats and a mountain of pizza boxes, knowing that the only reason the police found your body is because someone noticed you hadn’t posted on Instagram for a fortnight, the outlook is pretty grim.

We are forced into the dark and dingey meat market that is internet dating.

There are endless profiles; people who are blatantly new to this game because they’ve taken the time to write a lovely biography which tells you all about them and what they’re looking for, there are profiles that are blatantly catfish (guys, using pictures of Jensen Ackles doesn’t fool me), and then there are those who have been in this dark circle of Hell for too long and have edited their bio down to just a few short sentences; “yes i have my own teeth. no time wasters. no, i will not send nudes”

Websites like Plenty of Fish are stuffed to the rafters with profiles and as a girl it is beyond unpleasant.

The very first message I ever got, my introduction to the world of online dating, was from some random guy who didn’t even introduce himself or ask how I was, he just went straight in and asked, “do you like anal?”. I should have stopped right there, deleted my account, thrown the laptop out of the window, and just punched myself in the face to save everyone else the hassle.

I’m not tarnishing everyone out there with the same brush, but 96% of people you encounter are complete asshats!

I have stayed away from dating sites for months now, months and months, but recently decided to give it another go because where the fuck else do you find other singletons? All my friends are in relationships and all the friends of friends of friends of friends are also in relationships, or bat for the other team, or are dead.

Staying well away from Plenty of Fish like a shell-shocked soldier screaming, “don’t send me back, I can’t go back! You don’t know, man, you weren’t there!!”, I opted for a much more pleasant app (not Tinder!). So I swiped, and swiped, left it alone for a fortnight, swiped once or twice more, and got no matches.

Finally, one match came along, the first glimmer of hope in a long time! The ice breaker messages went well, but then it happened. There is about a five message buffer between introduction and depravity, he’d turned primal and started with the sexual refrences, oh and let’s not forget him thinking it was ok to send an unsolicited picture of his arse!

So, not only is it frustrating enough to be accused of being a catfish left, right, and centre – I’m sorry, I can’t help how I look!! I also have to contend with immediately being treated like an object and having someone’s bit and bobs presented to me when they were neither requested nor desired.

Guys, why do you consider this to be ok? Do you honestly think that acting like a ferral douchebag who can’t hold a conversation for ten minutes without blurting out perverted drivvel is going to make me (or anyone else) drawn to you? NO! It repels us with a 100% success rate. Please, for your own sake, pack it the fuck in!!

I am sick to the back teeth of numerous things and it is only a matter of time before I scream blue murder in the face of anyone who;

• Tells me how beautiful, amazing, gorgeous, wonderful etc I am and how anybody would count themselves lucky to have me, and should be falling over themselves to do so. – I don’t believe you and you’re making me feel worse every time you say it because there is no evidence supporting your claim.
• Tells me to, “enjoy being single” – go fuck yourself, seriously! I’ve never heard a more painful oxymoron. I’ve been single long enough now and loathed every second.
• Asks if I’m a catfish – do you honestly think I have the time for that shit? What’s the point in catfishing?
• Dishes out ANY form of sexual harrassment. You have no idea how negatively it makes a person feel about themselves. It instantly puts people off and if there was a HR department for life itself they would have a field day with some of the shit I’ve had said to me.
• Tells me I’m “too picky”. No I’m not, is it so fucking shallow of me to want someone who I can actually stand the sight of? Am I that much of a narrow minded bitch for not wanting to be with someone I don’t fancy? Would you go out with someone who you don’t find attractive? No? Aaaah see, so don’t tell me I’m picky because I’m not. It’s not my fault that out of the bottom of the barrel scrapings I’m left to choose from there might only be one or two up for consideration.

I already started asking the question of, “what’s wrong with me” long ago and it’s now only a matter of time before I become bitter and twisted, disillusioned with it all, and start throwing shade at every wedding I go to.

How else am I supposed to feel? Explain to me how I’m not allowed to feel disheartened, lacking in confidence to the point of having gone beyond zero confidence, full of self-hate, and incessently alone, used and objectified.

Dating websties seem to be the only way for us, but it’s an evil we have to learn to endure, and sadly there is no guarantee you won’t die from facepalming just that little bit too hard one day and braining yourself.