No More Ballet

I've heard many of my friends describe what it's like to live with depression. For a while there, I thought it might have been something I was fighting with too. Certainly it is sometimes, but rarely. Not something I could ever call a condition or anything like that. More often than not I am plagued with the symptoms and characteristics of what many mistaken people think depression is- constant sadness, inability to find meaning in everything, disappointment, confusion, and then back to sadness. Disclaimer: This is not depression. It is not what depression feels like, nor should it ever be considered being depressed. So stop that line of thought right there, I'm talking about something different.

For the record, it still hurts.

You've heard me talk about how much I miss my high school goth days- well, that feeling keeps spreading whether I want it to or not.

I spent this past weekend out of town, visiting friends that I haven't been able to spend time with in quite a while. It was honestly one of the most freeing things I've done in nearly a year. I spent two three-hour car rides singing beautiful songs at the top of my lungs in semi-perfect harmony, which you almost never get to do when you're being appropriate with normal people. I just got lucky in that my carmate loves to sing as much as I do.
Then we got to our friend's house, dressed up, and went to a party. I'm not usually a party person, but it was a party full of eccentric art students, which was awesome. It was nice to get out there and remember that artsy people do exist, and it's not all in my head.
We spent the next two days being fangirls and chatting about all of the things we love. I was allowed- encouraged, even -to read fanfiction and share what I was reading. It was perfectly fine for me to open up and say, you know what? I'm in love with fictional anime characters and I don't care who knows.

When I got back from the weekend, it felt like I was sinking back into what I think of as a restricting bubble in my head. Out loud, when I bring it up, my friends all say things like, Of course you can fangirl around us! We won't judge you! or maybe, Why do you feel like you can't express how much you like things? Don't you know that we love you?

My friends are right, of course. There's no reason why I could scream about Fruits Basket and Princess Tutu while out of town but not in my ordinary daily life. Logically, I don't make sense. That's what scares me, I don't make sense.

Do you know what it feels like to be trapped by something you can't identify? I don't KNOW why I can't express myself. If I knew that, I would stop it.

If I had my way and could do what I want, I would get back into ballet. I loved it, but was never really good at it as a child. When I lost my ability to dance, and any venue I had for doing it vanished, it felt like a part of me died. No more "Born to Hand Jive", no more ballet, tap, and jazz lessons on Tuesday nights. No more polka, no more waltz, no more tango. I haven't been able to dance in so long that I don't even know if I remember how.

Then I came to college and forgot how to sing. In a dorm room, you can hear everything through the vents (and I do mean everything). I couldn't exactly sing at the top of my lungs, not even in my own room. And God forbid I wanted to try expanding my musical range! No one in my residence hall would have appreciated some of the high notes I'm trying to learn to hit. Just like dance, I've been quiet for so long that singing feels like a thing of the past for me.

In high school, before everything fell to pieces, I could write. I was a good writer, I could create anything with words. Now? Hardly. I haven't been able to really sit down and write a thing that wasn't assigned for a class. Every time I try, I get five sentences in and lose all interest or motivation.

Last but not least, I started college as a Theatre major. It was wonderful, for all of two semesters, but I just couldn't hack the weird combination of professionalism and insanity that was theater. For me, it's a precious pastime that lets me express so many different things...but I was very easily intimidated by those with more talent than me, or more outgoing personalities. I changed my major. Now I'm in Mass Media, making films. I love it, and it's been a wonderful decision, but it just doesn't have the same artsy appeal that theater does.

I can't explain why all of my creative outlets seem to have curled up and died. What's worse, I can't explain how hard it is for me to try and fight against it, or why I even have to do that in the first place. It's like there's an expression switch in my head that's been flipped to "off". It's not that I'm uncomfortable expressing myself, I just can't do it.

At least I can still paint. People come to my room all the time and comment on how insanely girly and artsy my room is. Painting is one of the few mediums I haven't been able to destroy. I have a two by four foot muslin and watercolor replica of the stained glass rose from Beauty and the Beast on my wall. I have acrylic canvas paintings from Pocahontas, Tangled, and Mulan in some of the other rooms of my house. That's just the best way I've discovered to let myself express it. In fact, I have two more paintings lined up that I'm going to do as soon as I get the canvas I need.

Fakir and Mytho from Princess Tutu. 

Yuki and Kyo Sohma from Fruits Basket.

I can't wait to work on these paintings. These are just the sketches I've drawn out for reference (although I admit the Fakir/Mytho one is based on an existing piece of fanart. Not owned by me! I just transferred it into sketch form.)

I suppose in the meantime I'll focus on my paintings, and try to see what I can do to be more expressive. I'm going to start painting more things. So far I've been pretty Disney focused, because it's easy, and it's what everyone expects of me. Step one of my expression recovery plan is to paint things that other people won't necessarily like or care about. I want my room to be a reflection of ME, not what everyone else thinks I am. Maybe if I start trying to be truer to my real self, I'll figure out how I went wrong in the first place. 

This post has been fantastically rambling, so I understand if you don't feel the need to comment. Sometimes my trains of thought derail, making it hard to keep up. But if you managed it at all, congratulations.

I'll need some ice for this burn

I'd like to take this opportunity to remind the world that the internet is an open forum. Nothing is ever deleted completely, nothing is ever entirely lost. Once you've put it online, that's it. Then end. No takebacks.

That goes for everything from your Facebook status to Tumblr reblogs to the MySpace you had when you were twelve.

That being said, I'm upset. I'm scrolling along my Tumblr dash, completely innocently, and I saw a text post from a friend of a friend. Nothing new. It was a beautiful comparison of love to a cigarette burn, and I thought it was lovely. So I reblogged it. Does any of this seem out of the ordinary? No? As I thought.

Next thing I know, the original poster is contacting me personally wanting me to remove the post from my blog because it was extremely personal and had no business being there. I responded, surprised, and asked what the problem was. It's the internet, right? Why post something if you didn't want it shared? Plus, I'm not even friends with this person! I reblogged it from a mutual connection!

Next thing I know I'm being reamed in text form for "trying to teach [them] a lesson instead of just deleting the post like [they] asked". I received this message directly AFTER I deleted the post, as I was asked.

Um. I'm as happy to be obliging as the next person, but I'm still confused. And now I'm hurt. If it was so extremely personal and you didn't want people seeing it, then why did you post it on the internet? And why was it so ridiculously offensive that I reblogged the post- that's what everyone does on Tumblr! Are you trying to make me feel bad for being normal and ordinary?

I deleted the post, per request. I'm not a complete jerk. But I'm still kind of upset about it because I don't feel the situation was fair to me. I hate that someone who doesn't know me from Eve was able to get under my skin and make me feel awful on the inside for something that logically was not my fault in any way.

Now I feel even worse, because I think that it may have been some kind of romantic connection or something, between my friend and the original poster. I'd hate to think that the original poster getting into a fight with me ruined my friend's chance at a relationship (regardless of how much I may now think that my friend deserves better than someone who can't even figure out the internet).

Oh well. There's nothing to be done but forget it. It's not like I'll ever have to deal with this person in reality. At least, I don't think so. At this point, I honestly hope not.

Because if this person, whoever they are, had no qualms about harshly burning a complete stranger on the internet for no reason, I'd hate to find out what they're capable of doing to their friends.

Angels and Demons

Have you ever woken up one morning and just wondered, What the ever-loving hell am I doing with my life?

I do. In fact, I did this morning. I’ve been doing it a lot lately.

Today, what I’m going to do is take two of my most recent posts and mash them together to try and sum up how I’ve been feeling for the past several months.

In high school, I was punk/goth. My playlists consisted of mostly Skillet, Evanescence, Within Temptation, Linkin Park, and Nickelback. I was a drama nerd- not popular, but I had enough friends to not feel alone. Better yet, I preferred my smallish circle of weird, nerdy friends to the popular people at my school. It was a niche, it was mine, and I liked it.

My friends and I had dreams. Me, I was going to be a Broadway star, or a film actress. Maybe a writer. Regardless, I was going to be some kind of glamorous. I woke up every morning and put on my black fishnet gloves as a way of saying, Yeah, I stick out. Look at me, I’m one of THEM, those artsy people. We were like the Children of the Revolution, the ones who really experienced the world in a way few others did. Whether we were right or (more likely) delusional was irrelevant. What mattered was how we felt about it. In our eyes, we were ruggedly beautiful. We weren’t normal, that would be boring. We were angels and demons, faeries and wolves. We saw raw energy in the world, and our only real desire was to reflect it like mirrors. Music, theater, poetry, prose- we used any medium we could.

I could have sat and listened for hours to Skillet’s “Comatose” album, or Within Temptation’s “Black Symphony” concert DVD. I could be Comatose, Frozen, Jillian, Lucy, Breaking the Habit or wanting to be a Rockstar. My dreams were a part of me. I used to think that they were my vision of the future, something I used to distract myself from what I was really like, but looking back, I think I may have been wrong. Those are the things I most remember about myself. I remember putting on black eyeliner and straightening my hair, wearing combat boots with miniskirts. I remember the drama of it all.

I miss the drama.

When people ask me what I’m going to do when I graduate, I almost want to say I’m going back to how I used to be. I’m starting to think that I may be happiest if I can work in a live event coverage scene. I want to film concerts. I want to use my passion for ‘the artsy stuff’ for more than just TV news. I want to create, and I want to showcase the things I find beautiful. I’m tired of getting up every day just to go through the motions again. Doubtless my high school days were just as mundane as today is, but this isn’t how I want to remember it.  If I need to start dressing in all black and studded leather again, I’ll do it.

I just want to feel and see the beautiful again. Maybe I’m just being overemotional today, but maybe not.

All I can say is this- If I get my way, I’ll be filming rock concerts before I’m thirty. Sound cocky? Good.

Failure

A glimpse into why I haven't been writing on my blog so much lately.....

I'm working on a screenplay. That's what I'm good at, screenwriting. Well, any writing. I'm also trying to pull together some kind of creative writing deal for a campus publication someone told me out. Plus I'm doing more reading, trying to get back to my sharp self after quite a while off the reading wagon. But the important part right now is the screenplay.

Growing up, I had very clear ideas on what was or wasn't inappropriate, proper, normal, etc.
My parents are a minister and a children's librarian, both with decent-paying jobs and college degrees. One masters, one phD. My brother is a genius engineer who gets paid way more than any ordinary person should in my opinion, for doing a job that he mostly loves. Then there's me.

I often get asked, "What are you going to do when you graduate?" It's the equivalent of kindergarten's "What do you want to be when you grow up?" deal. The only problem is, in my field, there is no clear answer. I'm a Mass Media student, essentially a student of filmmaking and video journalism. It takes thousands and thousands of people to make movies- why do you think the credits are so long? But honestly, no one goes into the field hoping desperately to be in the fourth minute of the second credits song. You aim to be in the first few- executive producers, directors, actors. No one graduates from film school just dying to be the Key Grip.

Additionally, none of the roles in the media world really hold a specific skill set that you work to achieve specifically. If you want to be a nurse, you study a list of nurse things until they tell you, okay, you know enough, now you can be a nurse. If you want to be a fireman, they teach you the things you need to know to be a fireman until you know everything needed for that job. There are requirements, charts, certifications. Media is much more chaotic. In my field, you learn a list of random skills that, when put together in unpredictable combinations, make jobs.

I'll graduate knowing how to operate multiple kinds of cameras, direct a news show, record a voice actor, make a dark room look like outside at noon with lighting fixtures, and write the sequel script to Serenity. What am I going to do with all of that?

The only honest answer is "I don't know". And I have no shame in that answer.

In kindergarten, they make you pick a goal and work toward it. I want to be a teacher, I want to be a doctor, I want to be a childrens librarian like my mommy when I grow up. They tell you what classes to take, what summer internships to apply for, and essentially how to get a specific job. My teachers tell me, learn as much as you can so that you can apply for or do anything. They are legitimately teaching me how to do whatever I want to do. Opening doors.

So when I get asked what I'm going to do when I graduate, I can proudly say "I don't know." I DON'T KNOW. I don't have the slightest idea what I will wind up doing, but I do know that I will have options. I won't be able to narrow it down. I'll be able to look at lists of jobs and instead of picking the ones I can apply for, I'll have to sort out the ones I CAN'T apply for.

"I don't know" makes me sound like a failure, when the reality is the complete opposite.

Now why did I mention writing a screenplay and then go off on a tangent about my post-graduation plans? Don't worry, they're connected.

My screenplay that I'm writing is about failure. I have four characters, all of whom are labeled as failures at first glance. However, are they really?

One of them is thousands of dollars in debt. FAILURE.
What they didn't tell you is that he's made the decision to choose debt over inability to get a job. He's in college, trying for his masters degree.

One is a TV salesman, almost thirty with no wife, children, or anything.
He happens to be a military veteran who didn't have the chance to keep up with current job market requirements from his post overseas. The fact that he even has a job is a success. Failure, I think not.

One has struggled for years with being bet against by everyone, including his own family. Thrown to the wolves at seventeen, his dreams of veterinary school were crushed by waiting tables just to pay the rent on an apartment he had no reason to be renting. Throw in a little manic depression, and it's a success story that he's even still alive. So sure, call him a failure because he never went to college. Go right ahead, I dare you.

You get the idea.

The problem with our world is that we've been conditioned into compartmentalizing. It is my hope that this screenplay, when I complete it, will take that idea and turn it on its head.

So you may not see me write much- not that I've ever been one of those "multiple times a week" writers anyway. But at least now you know why.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

This semester, I've made a lot of changes. I'm still making many more.

You remember my old roommate, Frost?
Gone.
She graduated with no lack of kicking and screaming, and went home to live with Mom and Dad until she could find something to do with her BFA in Art. I can't say I'm sorry we don't live together anymore.....while we were good friends, we had majorly different methods of communication, which made living together difficult.

Now I feel like I've sort of stepped back in time- I've moved in with my friend Maveth, whom I lived with for a few months a couple of years ago. I was dating her roommate at the time. The relationship didn't last longer than 8 months, but that's a saga in itself. The part that's relevant now is that I've tried a new approach by living with someone I already know I can live with. Maveth and I get along with a very different dynamic than Frost and I did. So far, I like this better, but we'll see how it goes.

My relationship with Severus has changed too. Now that we've been together for over a year and a half, I suppose he feels like our relationship entitles us to certain things. Most of the time, I agree, but sometimes I just wish he would pretend not to take me for granted. It's a common problem among couples, so I know it can be fixed, but that doesn't make it any less annoying. I'm not his wife, and if he ticks me off too much, I still have the right to walk away and not look back. Some days I wonder if he remembers that. I wonder what he would do if I told him to get off my couch and stop using up my internet unless he intends to pay for it or spend time with me in trade. I'm sorta tired of him coming to my house just to put in his headphones and ignore me while he looks up job listings across the country. If what you want is to be alone and use the internet, go to the college campus. It's free there too.

I'm connecting with my friends again. Or trying to. Last semester, between school and drama at home, I had no time or desire to see people. I took every opportunity I could just to find a moment's peace in my own head. Now, living with Maveth, I feel much less burdened. I've reconnected with Maveth and another of our old friends, and I'm finding more time to spend with the people I care about. I'm much happier now that I can crash in the living room in my comfy wicker papasan chair and watch TV for hours, without feeling uncomfortable. This is my house. I live here. It's mine.

Last but not least, I've decided to go to counseling this semester. I spent my summer working with the same company I worked for last summer, and a few people there happened to bring out the worst in me. I don't like being angry and having attitude problems. That plus my inexplicable "brooding" weekends, I was starting to feel like I needed it. When I floated the idea past most of my friends, they all said that it was a good idea. So I went to the campus counseling center last week and spent an hour telling a total stranger about my life. It felt good. I'm hoping it continues to feel good.

This weekend I went with Maveth and our other friend to see the new Mortal Instruments movie. It was every bit as campy and typical as I expected it to be, and even as a filmmaker-in-training, I loved every minute. So there, sue me for my tolerance of the mediocre. The style of the movie and the Linkin Park played in the car to and from the theater made me realize just how much I've changed since high school alone. I was one of the goth kids, who wore black every day, and multiple garments with studs or spikes on them. I owned a pair of Tripp pants and wore them proudly. I wore wristbands with phrases like "Master of the Obvious". I had pins on my backpack from Warped Tour bands like Killswitch Engage and Paramore. I would have committed murder to get to a Within Temptation concert. When I first went to college, I turned my back on all that, and gladly. But after a year here, I started to regress- I worked haunted houses, first on campus and then around town. I made friends with others who were goths and former goths, nerds, gamers, theatre geeks, and media dorks. I felt like I fit in again, which was nice. Then I fell away from that too, as life got more difficult and required more time spend studying and sleeping than working on my social life. That was fine.

Now I'm regressing again. That stupid City of Bones movie made me miss my goth side. I miss feeling like a girl who felt like she had herself under control because she had her eyeliner done and her nails painted black. I used to be able to just walk down the hall and people knew who I was because of what they saw. Was it them being shallow, or me putting my gothic self out there? Who knows. One of those two-way street things. These days, I feel like no one can see me for who and what I really am. It's not as simple as "I am goth because I wear black and chains" anymore. There's more to understand, and less to be seen. How does one go about feeling self-actualized when you feel like no one can see you? No can get a clear view of you as long as you're underwater, just fighting to make it to the distant surface and breathe.

What do people see when they look at me now?

"That girl has bags under her eyes and her hair is unwashed. She must have spent all night making sure she had the money to pay her electric bill. Such an accomplished person!"

If only that were possible.
In the meantime, I have to just do what's best for me, and try not to care what other people think. Yep, that tired old middle-school mantra is still here.
Here goes nothing. At least, nothing that anyone else will see.

Song of that Day.

New

A new template for a new year. I like this a lot. I hope you do too.

Ravine

Do you ever feel like you're just not fitting in with life as a whole?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not suicidal or anything, I just can't quite figure out why it is that I periodically begin to feel as if there's a giant ravine separating me from every basic function of life. I swear if it weren't for painting therapy, I'd probably have problems with depression.

The people I know drift further and further away from me every day, and I can't explain why. For example, my apartment has always been a more or less "happening" place, due to my roommates' and my hatred of ever being alone. There's her, me, her fiancee, my boyfriend, his roommate, one of his coworkers, etc. who just basically live with us, even though only two of us pay the bills. Once upon a time we could all hang out in the living room laughing, having a good time, and enjoying each others' company. Lately, however, I've begun to despise being down there. I don't like hiding in my room like a princess in a tower, but every time I go downstairs, I wind up with nowhere to sit and nothing to do. They and their mess have spread out such that I don't feel like there's a place for me anymore. All they talk about is things I don't care about, and everyone's faults just pick at me until I want to scream. They just sit and play video games, all the time, and when I tried to get into it so I could have some kind of connection, I failed miserably. I just don't like what they like. So I hide upstairs. Every time I come down for something, my roommate asks me if I'm okay, but what do I say to that? "No, I'm not okay. I hate the fact that only one of us gets to really live in this apartment and the other just sleeps here"? The first thing she'll say is, 'But I've told you a hundred times that you can talk to me when you're upset and we can fix it'. Why haven't I done that, you ask? It seems reasonable, doesn't it?
Unfortunately, my answer is I don't know. I have no idea why, but I can't approach her. Maybe it's because I'm intimidated by the number of people she has at her back should she decide I'm out of line. Maybe it's that every time I try to talk to her about something serious and she feels threatened, she breaks down and cries, and nothing gets solved.

I don't have very many friends at all. Half of them are really only my friends because we live together. The other half are my coworkers, whom I love dearly. But even they can only help me for so long. After all, it's not their job to babysit me and cope with my every issue, they're functioning adults by themselves, and they've got their own problems to deal with. I feel like I'm intruding on their lives when we're together. So I get an hour or three every week where I really connect with someone, and then I go home and I'm alone again.

Even the boyfriend is a bit distant. Not his fault, he just got a job and he works from 3 to midnight every weekday, but it does mean he chooses to go home and sleep without me a lot more. Which means I'm alone. Still.

I know for a fact I sound like a whiny baby right now, and you're within every single one of your rights as a reader to close this tab and never return. I understand, really I do. I hate whiny people, I'm a terrible hypocrite that way.

It certainly doesn't help that I've been watching a lot of "friendship" and "feel-good" movies in my loneliness. You'd think I would know better.

And now for an appropriately whiny song to end a seriously whiny post.