Tag Archives: analytical

Self exploration through writing

On the way home from the store tonight, I was thinking about how most characters in books have certain virtues and talents that get them through life and hard times, such as being courageous or have a great voice (like in the book Fairest), or how many fairy tales the princess has to be beautiful and that’s what helps her, while the men are strong and brave, and don’t back down, they don’t give up. Steadfast.

So I was thinking about my characters. Since I started my writing exercises last year, I’ve focused mainly on one character, and though I do have others, they’re pretty similar. And, well, they’re similar to me, because I have a hard time writing outside of my personal experience. I can write characters that already exist, or base a character off a real person, but since my writing exercises are for me alone as a form of therapy, my characters take on traits I either see in myself or wish I had. When I write these characters down, and look at the story from afar, I can see things so much clearer than when they’re in my head, when I’m examining myself. I have to step outside of myself in order to see me better.

Claire is definitely not perfect. She has anxiety and depression, feelings of worthlessness and the strong overwhelming desire to be worth something. And in her desire to help in any way she can, she’s also afraid of messing things up, which in turn can mess things up. I noticed she has a strong maternal instinct, she has the desire to protect and to care for others, even if she doesn’t know them. She’s a nurse and a fighter, tending to the wounded after fighting a battle. She’s also practical to a fault, one some might call a “stick in the mud.” I don’t get to test out my prowess on a battlefield (and I’m sure I’d be bad at it), but I do know I’m good at taking care of people. It’s like some sort of auto-pilot comes on and I just go…

I do have a strong urge to protect people, and to help them, and to make their lives better in any way I can. I don’t know why, it’s just how I am, despite that I pretty much don’t trust anyone and am constantly on my guard. And as strange as it is, I’m loyal to a fault as well. Those people who have hurt me over the years, the people who have backstabbed me and betrayed me… I have continued to keep whatever secrets they may have told me, and I refuse to go on my public scenes to complain about them, and even here, I don’t mention names. I guess in a way, I don’t even hold it against them, really. I can still be civil with them, even if I can never trust them again. If someone else is fine with them, who am I to besmirch their name? What happened was between them and myself, no one else. I think there are maybe two or three people who I have told anything to over the years, and I’ve told them because I know they won’t say anything to anyone else and they won’t seek out any sort of payback for me. I do not need anyone attacking anyone else because I said something.

And as weird as it is, I would still help those who have hurt me. If I had the means and they needed my help, I would help them. That’s just how my family is. I can’t imagine being any different. And it shows in my characters a lot. They’re lonely, protective, desperate to be worth something, and willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of others. They are not heroes, they are in the background helping the heroes. They don’t want attention and if they can help anonymously, they will, because just the knowledge that someone might be happier, even just for a moment, because of something they did, it’s worth it. Even if it’s just smiling at someone who looks like they’re having a bad day or buying someone a coffee, or even just leaving a piece of artwork for someone to pick up.

I want to make the world a better place, I want to help people in any way that I can, and what better way than to go out into the world and touch people’s lives? It would be better if I wasn’t so… anti-social and socially awkward, and an outsider. Even if society deems me to be a freak and unfit to join their ranks, even if they bully me, and people like me, I will continue to do what I can to help others. I think that because there is so much pain even here in the states, that’s more reason for me to go do things to help out. I know the states has it easy compared to many, many other countries, but this is where I am, and where I can do the most good for now.

Misunderstanding

There’s a lady on talking to me right now and I have no idea what she’s meaning. It feels like she’s trying to tell me to stop talking about how being bullies isn’t helping anything… I know my posts tend to be long but they should be straightforward… I thought that my post would be taken as a “Don’t be a hypocrite and bullying is bad.” But people are commenting all sorts of other things on it that go deep into philosophy, and then this lady PM’d me and has just now blocked me because she apparently doesn’t agree with me? I don’t know… it doesn’t make sense to me.

I *know* not every person fighting for equality is the same as these extremist SJWs. I know not every feminist is a man hating person. I am complaining about the people who ARE. Why is that wrong??

Edited to say that despite saying she appreciates things about me and thinks I’m a good person, the lady who blocked me was afraid I was going to screenshot her and send the screenshots to my supposed MRA groups, groups for reverse racism (I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised those exist), and groups to make fun of liberals.

#1, I have never been, nor will I ever be, in groups like that ever again. I was in Sanctimommy Said What and I saw what kind of a shit hole that turned into with everyone turning on each other… And then when that other group turned on me, I just quit groups altogether except things that post pictures of cute fluffy things. I’m done with groups.

#2, I don’t side with anyone except those who strive for equality between everyone. If everyone is too busy bitching about how bad they have it, they can’t see the solutions. I don’t want to make fun of people, I just apparently have a poor way of trying to show flaws in all extremist thinking. I want to figure out why people think the way they do, and I am such a stickler for as much honesty as I can that maybe it makes me seem… I don’t know… I pick on all sides, but sometimes I guess it seems more one sided? I don’t know. I just hate that the people I thought were on my side are just as bad, if not worse, than the people they claim to hate.

If someone on my newsfeed posts something incorrect, I can’t really scroll by. If I see it enough, I’ll make a post about it. Maybe it’s more a reflection of what people post? o.O

Maybe I should just become a hermit and say screw the world, let it burn. Why should I even try to make a difference if no side will have me?

Those closest hurt you the most

Recently, I followed my brother onto this facebook page where this guy posted a comic depicting a man and a woman, and she give him her number, and as they walk away, the man is thinking, “I hope she didn’t give me a wrong number.” While the woman is thinking, “I hope he doesn’t rape and murder me.” Below that was written, “Today on “We’re Past All That” a critical examination of how men are really hurt when women don’t trust them and how it’s important that we really consider those feelings.”

My brother started commenting against the comments claiming that men are rapists and are not to be trusted, and then I joined in, because this is a completely unfair assessment that only damages any kind of equality we’re trying for. My brother stated that the comic was an unfair example, and that a better thing for the man to be thinking would be “I hope she doesn’t falsely accuse me of rape.” My brother has spent the past 6 years having to deal with the repercussions of that.

We were called rape apologists for saying that most men don’t rape, and that saying it’s fine to mistrust men is the same as saying it’s fine to mistrust black people. Neither one is ok. They claimed we were trying to dismiss women’s experiences by saying that not all men rape… even though it’s more like 5% of the population that does. 5% is not most, it is a mere fraction. Why should millions of men be accused in the minds of women of something they will never do?

It builds up a barrier, something we’ve been trying to tear down. It sets us back, and the people who claim that no man is to be trusted are just trying to raise up a new power in place of the old. No one group should ever be in charge, nothing will ever get better that way.

And of course my brother and I got banned, and then my mom sent me a screenshot showing me that my cousin apologized for our behavior… Great. How sweet. Apologizing for our behavior, knowing exactly what we’ve been through? Our position is as valid as theirs, but we were apparently invading a “safe space,” which happens to be a public page. PUBLIC. Safe places are private. Technically, there are no safe places… just look at what happened to me last year…

This is why I trust no one. I just didn’t expect it from family, especially the cousin I’m closest with.

The teenage diaries

I did have a bit of teen angst in my old diaries, but the depression made everything worse. Some people on facebook were sharing things about shows where people can go to share their old diary entries and make fun of their teenage selves, and so I went to look at mine, but I can’t laugh at it.

I still feel the pain, so well. I remember the knives, the pills, the darkness… and the darkness’s sweet embrace that was always just out of reach… My entries either read as a Captain’s Log play by play on things we did, or it’s a whirlwind of confusing emotions and me trying to process it all, ending with how exhausted, emotionally, I was, and how I was just tired of the pain.

“Oh that the darkness had taken me! I would welcome that darkness with open arms, if only to be rid of the pain… silent agonies… ripping at my heart, tearing my soul apart… and there’s no one to tell…”

I wish I could laugh at my teenage self for well, being a teenager, but I remember it too well. And besides, I wouldn’t laugh at a teenager who came to me upset over something I thought trivial. That’s what being a teenager is about, experiencing new and very extreme emotions, and trying to figure them out. Sadly, some teens have to deal with things like anxiety and depression along with everything else. And I cannot laugh at that, and I feel bad because I should be able to laugh at myself. I can laugh at stupid things I’ve said, like “I’d rather die than commit suicide!” (I think I was 9?). But I can’t laugh at the pain I was in, and everything else I wrote was pretty boring, like a news article.

“I wonder what plane I will fly in next. I sort of know, but I don’t know what it looks like. As big as a 747? That’s what I flew in on the way here. I don’t feel like I’m in Korea… I don’t know what I feel. Except that I feel no fear. None. I get a little nervous here and there… but not like I thought. I feel very comfy with not being able to speak the language (the security guards wear berrets!) 🙂 I wonder how it will go when I meet up with Wang Xin. Because it will be her country and language. Such an old and complicated language too! I hope I can learn it well and fast. My brother seems to have a knack to pick up languages. He speaks Japanese quite well, though for some reason doesn’t like Chinese. Oh well.”

When I write, it’s to transfer information, or to try to organize my thoughts or just get my feelings out. Like when I have a conversation with someone, phrases mean things to me whereas they’re just filler for other people. I don’t say things I don’t mean, and I don’t ask questions unless I really want to know the answer. My journals are the same, cataloging my days, my emotions, and what happened when. I have stacks of notebooks full of stuff, and it’s interesting to watch me go from being excited about having people to hang out with, to being flat out confused as to why they suddenly stopped caring about me, why they were lying to me, using me, and back stabbing me. It made me so cynical and now I don’t trust anyone.

I will not become attached to anyone again. I will not be used unless I say so (there are some situations where I’m meh about it, and will allow it because it’s no big deal). And since I can’t tell who has selfish motives most of the time, I treat everyone the same. I expect nothing in return, so when I get nothing, I’m not disappointed. I expect people to ditch out on me, because it’s happened so many times. For once, I’m not upset that my husband didn’t get me anything for my birthday. I would prefer it if my birthday ceased to exist, I think. I have more important things to worry about than whether or not someone forgot the day I was born. Again.

I may be rather jaded and bitter and cynical right now, but I won’t let that get in the way of wanting to help people. I just wish I had more to laugh at in my journals…

Internet interactions

So this past week or so, I’ve been having some strange interactions online with some people who are rather antagonistic. One instance involves Person A adding Person B to a group without asking if Person B wanted to be added. Person B then left the group and Person A asked why. PB said he never asked to be added and didn’t want to be part of the group, and they got into an argument about it.

PA then posted on his wall, wondering why PB got mad, because it’s not like some notifications can hurt, right? I tried to explain that by adding without asking, he was taking control of the situation away from the other person, and people tend to react negatively to that. PA thinks that the only way they’ll know if they want to be part of a group is by adding them, rather than inviting. He doesn’t care that people don’t like that, he’s going to do it anyway because it doesn’t cause them any physical harm. There’s a lot more to it than that, and needless to say PA has a few of my friends, and my brother even, pretty mad. My brother asked me if I was going to let PA get away with what he said to me. I’m not that good with words to properly retaliate. Another of my friends wants to beat the guy up.

Another incident involved a forum where this person posted about depression being a disease, not just a mood, and people need to stop the hurtful comments about it. One person on there posted that you can cure your depression if you think positive thoughts, and if you can’t, then you just have a weak mind. He said I lack awareness and that I’m a defeatist for not believing thought can cure something I’ve been trying to think away for around 17 years. I’m just weak willed, you know?

Another person brought up pornography to take a shot at something the OP said elsewhere, and they asked for someone to define it, so I did, and they attacked me and said my art was “far from good *yawn.*” When I asked why they said my art was bad, they replied with, “Quote me where I said your art was bad, I never said that.” So I did and they insulted me further -_-

One person was saying “I guess it’s really a matter on what type of connotation you give to “weak” or “cowardly.” I don’t give those things a negative or shameful connotation when it comes to things like this.” Concerning depression and suicide. So what is this person thinking, that they can get away with telling people they’re cowardly or weak and that the people should accept it because their connotation isn’t the same as the majority of humans on the planet? Our entire history is full of fights with those words used as insults to goad the other person into doing something stupid. You can’t just magically change those words to be light and fluffy good things.

Other people are saying you can’t blame depression for suicide, because it didn’t physically kill them. I can understand this a lot more, but I pose the analogy of a mind altering drug. If someone was given a mind altering drug and went on a killing rampage, people would say the drug was to blame. The person would still be held accountable, I’m sure (depending on the circumstance), but the drug wouldn’t be shoved to the side, it would be listed as a reason for his behavior. A reason for him killing people. Depression isn’t much different. These people wouldn’t kill themselves if their minds weren’t in an altered state. Just because it’s all internal and no one is injecting a drug into the person, doesn’t change it.

I want to try to bring more awareness to mental health, but I didn’t expect so many mean people all at once. And I didn’t even post the thread. But hey, it’s not really that surprising. There’s a horrible stigma still that goes with being depressed. Well with any mental illness. Any illness. Any state of being. People will judge, and think they’re right, that their opinion is the only one that matters, on any aspect of your life, even if they know nothing about you but a blip of words. I find that many people will take a small bit of what you said and fill in the rest with their assumptions, never mind that it wasn’t what you said at all. They only read/hear what they want and nothing anyone says is going to change their minds about it. So bizarre.

I try to stay open minded, and try to see things from different perspectives, but I’m fallible myself, and I know I make mistakes. I may not like the feeling I get when called on it, but I would rather be correct than be an arrogant ass.

Identity

So what defines who we are? Are our actions what define us, our thoughts, our words? My depression may not define who I am, such as “I am not depression, depression is not me.” But, if you take the depression away, I will change. If it weren’t for my dreams, or nightmares I suppose, then I wouldn’t be who I am. If certain things had never happened, I would be different. Not drastically different, but different nonetheless. If I hadn’t grown up having dreams of death and fear, would I be less fearful, or are the dreams a product of the fear? Do they feed each other? Would my decisions in life have been completely different without those warped and twisted adventures through dreamland? I know that depending on who I’m with, I am perceived differently. Does that have anything to do with who I am? My dad claims that my psychotic obsessive intrusive thoughts are not me, but they are a product of my mind, of my imagination… I know that I am a different person to my children than how my mother, father, brother or husband see me. I know that who I view me as is not shown to anyone else.

So who am I? What defines me? 

I am me. I have done more than many people even think of doing in their entire lives. I have been both rich and poor, homeless even. I have sung internationally with a choir, I have written songs, both lyrics and music, I have traveled abroad. I know movie stars, I know the nitty-gritty of life. I have raised animals for wool, meat, eggs, milk and had my own garden (like I could the byproduct, lol). I am self sufficient, as in I know how to survive in the wild. I can build shelter, build traps, hunt for food, build a bow, build arrows, whittle arrowheads. I know how to make rope, thread, cloth, chainmaille. I can harvest wool, spin it, knit it, weave it, crochet it. I can run Unix based systems such as Linux, as well as Dos, Mac, Windows. There is no program I have not tried and mastered that I wanted to. I can play with 3D modeling like it’s play-doh, I can “see” it as if it’s in front of me. I have also sculpted with clay. I can paint, draw, make jewelry. I have sailed to distant islands, motored around, skii and knee-board, wakeboard, surfboard. I’ve gone fishing with both high quality gear and makeshift stick and string and caught things with both. I have made fire with flint and steel, and with two sticks rubbed together. I am a cook, have a title of honorary Mexican for my Mexican cooking. I cook from scratch, making sauce and dough. I have almost mastered Italian and French pastries. I have studied history, foreign languages, cultures and mythologies, collected foreign antique coins, collect antique books, swords and other weapons, jewelry. I have studied heraldry and architecture and archeology. I have had heartbreak, found love, lost loved ones, have children, have depression, OCD, anxiety, psychotic intrusive obsessive thoughts, crazy nightmares, fibromyalgia, allergies, asthma, possibly Aspergers, high IQ…

I could go on for a while, I’m sure, but what I’m getting at is, Who am I? What defines me? With everything I have ever done, that has shaped my life, shaped my being… It’s not an easy answer, if it can even be answered.