I need a brain makeover
Dec. 2nd, 2003 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gwynI wanna know why they don't have makeovers for brains. I want an Estee Lauder or MAC counter that will freshen my brain's outlook, perk up my style, make me emotion-forward with bold new colors. Not drug therapy like antidepressants, just... better application of product. Good product. Kyan-approved product that will rejuvenate my soul and retexturize my emotions.
I got a little note today that I'd had a couple stories nominated for the Love's Last Glimpse awards for those delusional holdovers of Spuffiness, like me. I'm not normally one for fan awards; in fact, I usually disdain them because all they really are is popularity contests that have nothing to do with quality or ability (and I can't play the self-promotion game well, so popularity is never going to be an option), but for some reason, this week, it was a really nice boost from a really bad depression I'm having more than my usual trouble climbing back out of.
I was telling a friend that I don't really have clinical depression per se; I get a kind of situational depression sometimes that has everything to do with particular events or particular people, and my general utter lack of self-worth. It gets really bad right around my period, of course, and I always forget that my hormones are raging and that's part of what makes me want to jump off a bridge; however, my sister -- Evil Twin -- can make it so much worse that I end up feeling like I might as well play in traffic at midnight wearing all black clothing. There's nothing like having your twin be pretty, skinny, popular, loved by everyone, and confident, while you are none of those things. We don't share traits; they were split down the middle of the egg, and she got all the good ones and I got all the bad ones.
I look at ET and I see this person who would never have to know what it's like to be in a chat room and see someone come in, look around and see no one except you, and leave quickly before you can, you know, chat with them. Stuff like that just would never happen to her. Her friends would never turn down her invitations to do things by telling her they had planned to go somewhere else that was better -- and you're not invited. She's the popular girl, she doesn't know what it's like to have always call and invite and plan, but never be included in others' plans. She's the one who gets invited, who gets petted and adored, and I've watched from the sidelines my whole life, knowing that's not something that will ever happen to me. I learned from watching her that no matter how hard I've tried to treat friends as I wanted to be treated, they never returned that level of feeling, not the kind I saw her get from people she knows. We're very alike in personal relationships except that I'm shy and she's not -- and I keep wondering if that's the only thing that distinguishes whether you'll be happy or not.
A couple weeks ago, someone at a local get together mentioned how many comments my first language post generated, and even though I know she was trying to be nice, it just made me feel worse -- none of my creative endeavors will ever generate as much response as a post about apostrophes, something I find endlessly depressing. I know it shouldn't be, but it still feels that way -- you can sweat and toil for months on a story and it won't matter much, but write about language abuse, and you're the bee's knees. Weird. I know that I'm not one of those really gifted writers or vidders, I know that at best I'm merely workmanlike and pedestrian, and it's been kind of hard to come to terms with that recently, because I've worked hard all my life to be more, at least in creative pursuits. But I know that's not a feeling ET will ever understand in me -- partly because she gave up her creative life (she was an incredibly gifted metalwork artist) by choice, and partly because she would never experience anything less than success and adulation if she did pick up the artistic life again. She'd just say, well, if you feel pedestrian, try harder.
Aside from my disdain of awards, there's also the underlying futility of it all, because I know from standing in her shadow for so long that I'd never win any popularity contests, so that somehow drives home the point even more that I will never achieve the kinds of things my sister -- and many of my friends -- take for granted. People who revel in tons of adoration don't really know what it's like to not be adored, so they're often impatient or nasty to people who don't have the same experience, who wish for more or wish to feel confident and cared about. ET has never understood my feelings of inadequacy, she bullies and berates me and tells me what to do and leaves me enervated and miserable, and she doesn't really see that a lot of the things she bitches me out for are patterns I developed because of that kind of treatment. I'm at my most passive when she's here, not a state I'm normally in.
She's always been really supportive of my writing, but she doesn't get why I can't believe in myself -- I think she looks at me and sees someone with an ability who isn't doing anything about it. She can't see how much I eat away at my work before I even get it on paper, because I feel like a talentless hack. Fandom, instead of helping me move out of that mindset, actually has made it worse, because I know that the levels of support most people get will never happen, for various reasons, and I often find myself questioning the whys and wherefores, something that ET has never had to do to herself. So her barking at me doesn't help an already festering wound, and then I spiral downward even more. And end up in need of the Bliss Brain Brightener.
I noticed something a while ago that bemused me -- the more fanfic I write, the less response and interaction I get. Which is an interesting paradox, but also? A depressing one. I'm not sure what it means, but when ET was here last week, I was thinking about it. She had her cell phone on almost the whole time she was here, and it rang and rang and rang, all her friends wishing her a happy birthday and calling to check up or say hi. She doesn't judge herself against anything except the fact that neither of us is married or had kids, which she thinks broke our mom's heart; but she knows that she's loved, cared for, thought of, so she will never judge herself against an empty mailbox or the silence of her "friends." Even if I could explain fandom to her, that part I could never adequately explain in a way she'd get. I kept wondering what that level of friendship was like, and kind of giving her the evil eye, thinking, none of those people would just stop talking with you because you didn't call them, because you didn't initiate all the contact. None of them would ditch you if you didn't pester them to get together. So she hasn't got the experience to know why my self-esteem is completely missing, and then she gets frustrated even more intensely with me because I won't be like her, all peppy and positive.
When we were growing up, we weren't really allowed to have an identity of our own. We had only The Twins identity, and it wasn't until I got much older that I broke away. When she moved to California, for the first time I had my own life, my own existence. And everyone told me I was the nice one, the gentle artist, the good daughter, out of the two of us (ET is... rather intense), but when push came to shove, it was always ET who got the rewards, the love and affection. My dad forgets that the birthday wishes are for both of us, not just her. I never figured out exactly how she did it, so I gave up trying, and now I'm kind of... bleh. I keep thinking there must be a way out of this that doesn't involve Prozac, but I haven't figured it out.
I still like creating, but... lately there seems little point. I'm trying to get my hands into some work by making a Nikita vid for the Vividcon dance show, and another vid with a friend, and keep writing, but lately, I find it hard to keep going. I have to drag myself to the chair, whereas I never had to before. I've never been a procrastinator or flake about setting goals, not until recently. I still feel as passionately about the fandoms I write and vid for as ever, yet I can't make myself believe there's any value in what I'm trying to create. At best, maybe there'll be a nomination for some fan award I'd never win; more often than not, though, I'll hear ET's voice going, "you're nothing and nobody." At least, I suppose, it's not my neighbor's dog telling me to kill people.
So, that's why I need a brain makeover. I need the Queer Eye guys to come and spruce up my interior life. Or something. I know you know what I mean.
I got a little note today that I'd had a couple stories nominated for the Love's Last Glimpse awards for those delusional holdovers of Spuffiness, like me. I'm not normally one for fan awards; in fact, I usually disdain them because all they really are is popularity contests that have nothing to do with quality or ability (and I can't play the self-promotion game well, so popularity is never going to be an option), but for some reason, this week, it was a really nice boost from a really bad depression I'm having more than my usual trouble climbing back out of.
I was telling a friend that I don't really have clinical depression per se; I get a kind of situational depression sometimes that has everything to do with particular events or particular people, and my general utter lack of self-worth. It gets really bad right around my period, of course, and I always forget that my hormones are raging and that's part of what makes me want to jump off a bridge; however, my sister -- Evil Twin -- can make it so much worse that I end up feeling like I might as well play in traffic at midnight wearing all black clothing. There's nothing like having your twin be pretty, skinny, popular, loved by everyone, and confident, while you are none of those things. We don't share traits; they were split down the middle of the egg, and she got all the good ones and I got all the bad ones.
I look at ET and I see this person who would never have to know what it's like to be in a chat room and see someone come in, look around and see no one except you, and leave quickly before you can, you know, chat with them. Stuff like that just would never happen to her. Her friends would never turn down her invitations to do things by telling her they had planned to go somewhere else that was better -- and you're not invited. She's the popular girl, she doesn't know what it's like to have always call and invite and plan, but never be included in others' plans. She's the one who gets invited, who gets petted and adored, and I've watched from the sidelines my whole life, knowing that's not something that will ever happen to me. I learned from watching her that no matter how hard I've tried to treat friends as I wanted to be treated, they never returned that level of feeling, not the kind I saw her get from people she knows. We're very alike in personal relationships except that I'm shy and she's not -- and I keep wondering if that's the only thing that distinguishes whether you'll be happy or not.
A couple weeks ago, someone at a local get together mentioned how many comments my first language post generated, and even though I know she was trying to be nice, it just made me feel worse -- none of my creative endeavors will ever generate as much response as a post about apostrophes, something I find endlessly depressing. I know it shouldn't be, but it still feels that way -- you can sweat and toil for months on a story and it won't matter much, but write about language abuse, and you're the bee's knees. Weird. I know that I'm not one of those really gifted writers or vidders, I know that at best I'm merely workmanlike and pedestrian, and it's been kind of hard to come to terms with that recently, because I've worked hard all my life to be more, at least in creative pursuits. But I know that's not a feeling ET will ever understand in me -- partly because she gave up her creative life (she was an incredibly gifted metalwork artist) by choice, and partly because she would never experience anything less than success and adulation if she did pick up the artistic life again. She'd just say, well, if you feel pedestrian, try harder.
Aside from my disdain of awards, there's also the underlying futility of it all, because I know from standing in her shadow for so long that I'd never win any popularity contests, so that somehow drives home the point even more that I will never achieve the kinds of things my sister -- and many of my friends -- take for granted. People who revel in tons of adoration don't really know what it's like to not be adored, so they're often impatient or nasty to people who don't have the same experience, who wish for more or wish to feel confident and cared about. ET has never understood my feelings of inadequacy, she bullies and berates me and tells me what to do and leaves me enervated and miserable, and she doesn't really see that a lot of the things she bitches me out for are patterns I developed because of that kind of treatment. I'm at my most passive when she's here, not a state I'm normally in.
She's always been really supportive of my writing, but she doesn't get why I can't believe in myself -- I think she looks at me and sees someone with an ability who isn't doing anything about it. She can't see how much I eat away at my work before I even get it on paper, because I feel like a talentless hack. Fandom, instead of helping me move out of that mindset, actually has made it worse, because I know that the levels of support most people get will never happen, for various reasons, and I often find myself questioning the whys and wherefores, something that ET has never had to do to herself. So her barking at me doesn't help an already festering wound, and then I spiral downward even more. And end up in need of the Bliss Brain Brightener.
I noticed something a while ago that bemused me -- the more fanfic I write, the less response and interaction I get. Which is an interesting paradox, but also? A depressing one. I'm not sure what it means, but when ET was here last week, I was thinking about it. She had her cell phone on almost the whole time she was here, and it rang and rang and rang, all her friends wishing her a happy birthday and calling to check up or say hi. She doesn't judge herself against anything except the fact that neither of us is married or had kids, which she thinks broke our mom's heart; but she knows that she's loved, cared for, thought of, so she will never judge herself against an empty mailbox or the silence of her "friends." Even if I could explain fandom to her, that part I could never adequately explain in a way she'd get. I kept wondering what that level of friendship was like, and kind of giving her the evil eye, thinking, none of those people would just stop talking with you because you didn't call them, because you didn't initiate all the contact. None of them would ditch you if you didn't pester them to get together. So she hasn't got the experience to know why my self-esteem is completely missing, and then she gets frustrated even more intensely with me because I won't be like her, all peppy and positive.
When we were growing up, we weren't really allowed to have an identity of our own. We had only The Twins identity, and it wasn't until I got much older that I broke away. When she moved to California, for the first time I had my own life, my own existence. And everyone told me I was the nice one, the gentle artist, the good daughter, out of the two of us (ET is... rather intense), but when push came to shove, it was always ET who got the rewards, the love and affection. My dad forgets that the birthday wishes are for both of us, not just her. I never figured out exactly how she did it, so I gave up trying, and now I'm kind of... bleh. I keep thinking there must be a way out of this that doesn't involve Prozac, but I haven't figured it out.
I still like creating, but... lately there seems little point. I'm trying to get my hands into some work by making a Nikita vid for the Vividcon dance show, and another vid with a friend, and keep writing, but lately, I find it hard to keep going. I have to drag myself to the chair, whereas I never had to before. I've never been a procrastinator or flake about setting goals, not until recently. I still feel as passionately about the fandoms I write and vid for as ever, yet I can't make myself believe there's any value in what I'm trying to create. At best, maybe there'll be a nomination for some fan award I'd never win; more often than not, though, I'll hear ET's voice going, "you're nothing and nobody." At least, I suppose, it's not my neighbor's dog telling me to kill people.
So, that's why I need a brain makeover. I need the Queer Eye guys to come and spruce up my interior life. Or something. I know you know what I mean.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-12-02 03:08 pm (UTC)Sometimes when I read something, there's just nothing I can do, you know? I mean, I have this feeling of intense perfection or personal realization or the need to wax poetic or write a wordy post about how in love I am with a story and an author, but I don't want to share it. I don't want to ruin it. I don't want to make it manifest, because I know I don't have the words within me to possibly add anything to that which has caused the feeling.
You are beyond words, is what I am saying. I'm saying that something exists in me which feels that there is something amazing about you. I'm saying that you affect me. I'm saying you're the rare type of person that calls to me to be better than I am.
I don't know why this is so. I have no explanation, and I have no degree, and I have no important thoughts. I'm a nineteen-year-old depressive and I really have no right to claim what I am claiming. It just is. It's just that you are.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-02 04:54 pm (UTC)And you can claim whatever you want to!! No matter what your age or mental state, it's what you feel.