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Be a world, child. Form a circle.
I feel irrationally lonely. I think I need to go watch this vid a few dozen times until it's absorbed into my head again. (I love that poem so very much)
I had the first "maybe I should just be done with it all"-type thought last night that I've had in a while. It was banished instantly, but it was there. Passing by the bathroom--a triggery place. It makes sense; it's like walking by a bridge & getting that "oh, I could jump off" impulse. When you've sat on your bathroom floor & cut--when you've stood at your sink & considered slashing your wrist--it's not out of the question for your brain to occasionally remember those moments later, when you're down, and go, "psst, let's finish the job."
My self-esteem is struggling. How much does it count for to be a good person, to be unique, if you're different & "practically" stupid? What I mean is, if you're only unique like a novelty, like a humorous mistake. It's how I felt when I was thirteen. When I was fifteen. When I was twenty (Jesus, rereading that still gets to me). Now.
To be intelligent, but constantly reminded of how pointless your intelligence is. By you & by others. How useless it is. In the race for the smartness that matters, that gets you by in life, you are always behind. And you are alone. You are strong, and everyone feels the need to constantly remind you of that, like it somehow makes up for how fucking lonely you are. For how much pain you've had to endure. Like it even matters. Strength simply helps you survive. It doesn't get you laid, it doesn't get you money, it doesn't cook a balanced meal. It's great to have, but it'd also be great to sometimes be a normal person who knows how to change a fucking tire. And yes, I know normal people don't all know how to change a tire. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I can tell you the capital of Ethiopia, but I'm ignorant of local freeways. I'm like a retarded rainman. Except not even. I'm not even an accomplished uselessly smart person. I didn't even manage to get myself scholarships so I could go away to a university (since my dad wouldn't pay) or finish community college & transfer to one. I'm just a "sits at home & wastes her pointless brain" weirdo. "Hey, who wants to know how many leeches Lord Byron had on him when he died? No one? Okay, that's cool. Do I win a prize for knowing my library barcode number by heart for no reason? I can tell you all about eastern religions & women's rights in the middle east. Or analyze the meaning of advertisements & race & income & culture & class & statistics & turn it into an essay on sociology/media/psychology that gets an A (which is so much fun for me to research that I actually flail the entire time writing it). Wanna give me an ambiguous job that serves some vague function? Ooh, I know, how about you throw me into the saturated market of writing & then we can pretend I'm good enough for that? Hahaha."
My sister made fun of me for years after I couldn't understand her directions for making a grilled cheese sandwich. We were on the phone and I must've been at least 19. She could hardly speak trying to explain it to me, because she was cracking up so hard at my confusion (all because she said "butter both sides & then put down the side with butter on it", so I kept thinking she meant each side of one piece of bread & I didn't understand which side to put down. We kept going back & forth about that, and then about *when* to butter each side, and when to put the slices of cheese down, and how many minutes in between, and bla bla bla. It was like "Who's on first", except with more humiliation). She never let me live it down. Same thing happened over me not being able to get out of the McDonald's bathroom that time as a kid, that time I didn't know how to turn on the hotel bathtub when I was twelve, that time I also couldn't figure out my dad's bathtub as a teenager, any time I ever tried to cook, any time I tried to help my dad pitch a tent, and thousands of other examples.
"You're not stupid. Or maybe you are? You must be."--my mom.
"I've never known anyone so smart who's so dumb."--my mom.
"I have to think for you. You won't do it on your own."--my mom.
"This is simple, Rachael. Anyone could do it. I should've known to ask someone else."--my dad.
On & on. We won't go into the "you're weird"/"you're uptight"/etc shit. I don't have all day.
I don't even know what my point is anymore. I think this is starting to sound like a pity party, but that's not my intention. I just want to get this stuff out, and I don't want to do it by cutting. I don't want to suppress it by lying in bed. I want to express it so I can move on & try to actually do things today. Eat, write my fanfic, live.
I think eventually if I talk long enough, the pain has to empty itself out. There has to be a catharsis. I don't want these things to consume me & sit inside me forever. Some of these things have been said before, but some of them haven't. And some of them haven't been fully felt. I need to feel them.
I think that's it. I might have had more to say when this started, but I feel like the emotions are resolved for now, so I'm satisfied. I know some of these things I say to myself aren't logically fair. I know I should consider myself a worthy person. That there's more than one type of intelligence. That there are people who love me. That I'm not truly alone. That my strength does matter & that it has helped me & will continue to help me. But sometimes emotions still hurt, even when they don't stand the test of reason. They're still valid. And they must still be dealt with & acknowledged. Otherwise they just hover over you with all this power & you can't even get away because you won't even admit they're there.
Moving on, my fanfic mojo is beginning to return. It's probably because my emotions are all crazycakes so I need a release. That, and this week's episode gave me fodder. I've got a nice list of notes going (gotta have an outline!) & an almost-plot is beginning to unfold (as for the fic itself, we're at just under 1,000 words. Since we're talking about me here, that means it's barely started. Obviously). Lest anyone think my brain is a place of linear order, however--at least when it comes to matters of creativity? Let's set the record straight.
Welcome to my writerly cranium, folks:
In other words. . .
Exactly.
For my Vid of the Day (by blablablacksheep54), I'm gonna throw some love to a character that never gets enough. She's one of those types who absolutely deserves a punch in the face every now & then, can totally be a douche, gets hated on by the fans (often because they "love to hate" her), but who, guess what? I love. LOVE. She is my homie. If you don't like her, you can go to Hell. How 'bout that. Heh. I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT. You leave my homie alone. Zip it.
Ha, I get so protective of my favorite characters--probably because I usually identify with them, but shh. (seriously, the final season/finale of this show? Gave me so much rage I can't even say. No other show can even come close. As far as I'm concerned, the series ended with season 5, which was wonderfully cracky & fun. Season 6 can die in a lake of fire.)
Disclaimer: this vid has a trigger warning for SI & assault.
*eta: This vid makes an excellent follow-up as well. Why am I feeling the need for a season 1, 2, & 5 (i.e. the good ones) marathon now? Not to mention a Gilmore Girls rewatch? Thanks a lot, YouTube.
I had the first "maybe I should just be done with it all"-type thought last night that I've had in a while. It was banished instantly, but it was there. Passing by the bathroom--a triggery place. It makes sense; it's like walking by a bridge & getting that "oh, I could jump off" impulse. When you've sat on your bathroom floor & cut--when you've stood at your sink & considered slashing your wrist--it's not out of the question for your brain to occasionally remember those moments later, when you're down, and go, "psst, let's finish the job."
My self-esteem is struggling. How much does it count for to be a good person, to be unique, if you're different & "practically" stupid? What I mean is, if you're only unique like a novelty, like a humorous mistake. It's how I felt when I was thirteen. When I was fifteen. When I was twenty (Jesus, rereading that still gets to me). Now.
To be intelligent, but constantly reminded of how pointless your intelligence is. By you & by others. How useless it is. In the race for the smartness that matters, that gets you by in life, you are always behind. And you are alone. You are strong, and everyone feels the need to constantly remind you of that, like it somehow makes up for how fucking lonely you are. For how much pain you've had to endure. Like it even matters. Strength simply helps you survive. It doesn't get you laid, it doesn't get you money, it doesn't cook a balanced meal. It's great to have, but it'd also be great to sometimes be a normal person who knows how to change a fucking tire. And yes, I know normal people don't all know how to change a tire. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I can tell you the capital of Ethiopia, but I'm ignorant of local freeways. I'm like a retarded rainman. Except not even. I'm not even an accomplished uselessly smart person. I didn't even manage to get myself scholarships so I could go away to a university (since my dad wouldn't pay) or finish community college & transfer to one. I'm just a "sits at home & wastes her pointless brain" weirdo. "Hey, who wants to know how many leeches Lord Byron had on him when he died? No one? Okay, that's cool. Do I win a prize for knowing my library barcode number by heart for no reason? I can tell you all about eastern religions & women's rights in the middle east. Or analyze the meaning of advertisements & race & income & culture & class & statistics & turn it into an essay on sociology/media/psychology that gets an A (which is so much fun for me to research that I actually flail the entire time writing it). Wanna give me an ambiguous job that serves some vague function? Ooh, I know, how about you throw me into the saturated market of writing & then we can pretend I'm good enough for that? Hahaha."
My sister made fun of me for years after I couldn't understand her directions for making a grilled cheese sandwich. We were on the phone and I must've been at least 19. She could hardly speak trying to explain it to me, because she was cracking up so hard at my confusion (all because she said "butter both sides & then put down the side with butter on it", so I kept thinking she meant each side of one piece of bread & I didn't understand which side to put down. We kept going back & forth about that, and then about *when* to butter each side, and when to put the slices of cheese down, and how many minutes in between, and bla bla bla. It was like "Who's on first", except with more humiliation). She never let me live it down. Same thing happened over me not being able to get out of the McDonald's bathroom that time as a kid, that time I didn't know how to turn on the hotel bathtub when I was twelve, that time I also couldn't figure out my dad's bathtub as a teenager, any time I ever tried to cook, any time I tried to help my dad pitch a tent, and thousands of other examples.
"You're not stupid. Or maybe you are? You must be."--my mom.
"I've never known anyone so smart who's so dumb."--my mom.
"I have to think for you. You won't do it on your own."--my mom.
"This is simple, Rachael. Anyone could do it. I should've known to ask someone else."--my dad.
On & on. We won't go into the "you're weird"/"you're uptight"/etc shit. I don't have all day.
I don't even know what my point is anymore. I think this is starting to sound like a pity party, but that's not my intention. I just want to get this stuff out, and I don't want to do it by cutting. I don't want to suppress it by lying in bed. I want to express it so I can move on & try to actually do things today. Eat, write my fanfic, live.
I think eventually if I talk long enough, the pain has to empty itself out. There has to be a catharsis. I don't want these things to consume me & sit inside me forever. Some of these things have been said before, but some of them haven't. And some of them haven't been fully felt. I need to feel them.
I think that's it. I might have had more to say when this started, but I feel like the emotions are resolved for now, so I'm satisfied. I know some of these things I say to myself aren't logically fair. I know I should consider myself a worthy person. That there's more than one type of intelligence. That there are people who love me. That I'm not truly alone. That my strength does matter & that it has helped me & will continue to help me. But sometimes emotions still hurt, even when they don't stand the test of reason. They're still valid. And they must still be dealt with & acknowledged. Otherwise they just hover over you with all this power & you can't even get away because you won't even admit they're there.
Moving on, my fanfic mojo is beginning to return. It's probably because my emotions are all crazycakes so I need a release. That, and this week's episode gave me fodder. I've got a nice list of notes going (gotta have an outline!) & an almost-plot is beginning to unfold (as for the fic itself, we're at just under 1,000 words. Since we're talking about me here, that means it's barely started. Obviously). Lest anyone think my brain is a place of linear order, however--at least when it comes to matters of creativity? Let's set the record straight.
Welcome to my writerly cranium, folks:
In other words. . .
Exactly.
For my Vid of the Day (by blablablacksheep54), I'm gonna throw some love to a character that never gets enough. She's one of those types who absolutely deserves a punch in the face every now & then, can totally be a douche, gets hated on by the fans (often because they "love to hate" her), but who, guess what? I love. LOVE. She is my homie. If you don't like her, you can go to Hell. How 'bout that. Heh. I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT. You leave my homie alone. Zip it.
Ha, I get so protective of my favorite characters--probably because I usually identify with them, but shh. (seriously, the final season/finale of this show? Gave me so much rage I can't even say. No other show can even come close. As far as I'm concerned, the series ended with season 5, which was wonderfully cracky & fun. Season 6 can die in a lake of fire.)
Disclaimer: this vid has a trigger warning for SI & assault.
*eta: This vid makes an excellent follow-up as well. Why am I feeling the need for a season 1, 2, & 5 (i.e. the good ones) marathon now? Not to mention a Gilmore Girls rewatch? Thanks a lot, YouTube.