Captain Buzzkill

I like to think I’m a fun gal. I’m outgoing, have lots of friends, am pretty funny, and have endless topics to chat about. So, tell me why I’m somehow also the biggest buzzkill I know?!

You see, I’ve been at parties where my partner has pulled me aside and asked me not to share a certain thing. I’ve had thoughtful friends change the topic while I’m mid-sentence raving about something I think is amusing and relevant to the chat. I’ll be sharing a hilarious story at dinner and unbeknownst to me, a hush will be falling over the room. Eyes will shifting awkwardly. People are asking themselves, “This… isn’t funny. Is she expecting me to laugh?”.

It turns out that on top of my extroverted persona, my particular brand of over-sharing has quite the ability to bring a conversation down. While my friends may get me, they have enough perspective to know that maybe the rest of the room may not be my crowd. Basically, have you seen Buzz Killington on Family Guy? It’s exactly like that.

Having complex, rare, and unusual health conditions has made me wildly unrelatable to people who are apparently outside my demographic (*cough* healthy people *cough*). My fellow chronically and mentally ill friends tend to get my dark humour or understand that when I talk about my medical experiences, I’m never looking for pity. They get my humour, and if I’m not funny to them, that’s on me. I’ll take that L.

Truly, some of the funniest people I know are the sick ones, and yes, they can be pretty sick in their humour too – sometimes you have to be. I’ve heard so many fellow people with Common Variable Immunodeficiency talk about being hospitalised and spending the whole time spinning yarns with the medical staff, trying to make them laugh.

That’s all I did the one time I was hospitalised, too. I was alone, quarantined in a room in the infectious diseases ward (ironically because I’m severely immunocompromised) and being treated like an episode of House because no one knew what was wrong with me, and all I could think was, “Ugh, everyone’s so freaking serious, how can I lighten the mood in here?!”. I like to think I did lighten the mood in there, even though it turns out I had been going into septic shock earlier.

As I write this, I feel I should be starting some sort of support group for us unpalatable sickos. Allies can join too, with appropriate references of course. I’ll always remember the people in my life who, when I was extremely ill with an undiagnosed rare parasite for months, laughed at my inappropriate poop jokes. And of course, my friend, who teased me for my life being a “real shit show”, bringing a joyful tear to my eye with the most perfect pun for my crappy situation. Take notes, healthy people; poop jokes are a mark of true allyship!

The weirdest thing about these awkward situations that I find myself in, is that I’m 100% simply trying to relate to people. Out here truly thinking that I’m validating their experience by agreeing and adding my own anecdotal evidence, like we all do. It just turns out that if you’re nodding and trying to connect with an anecdote about, say, coughing up blood, you might not be building the bridge you think you are.

It's okay, I've accepted it. Kind of. From what I understand, the best brands aim themselves at a very targeted niche audience. So, I guess I'll just continue to try and embrace my uniqueness with those who see beyond my unpalatable sicko exterior to the silly, goofy girly within. Those people who don't just see a pitiable chronically ill person, but are here for the FULL, uninterrupted buzzkill package.