Oh wow, I thought I'd be out of here by now.

[cyrano]

Yeah, three days later I continue to have 'Still in Hollywood' stuck in my head. And I'm walking paths I'd hoped to be done with after ten years.
Warning. This entry is not mindless boring getting-to-know-you chit chat. This is that trite self-exploratory stuff that you see in arty French films. Well what do you expect? It's three in the morning, and that's what happens then.
A friend told me tonight that she had no idea why I hated myself. Now, I'm well aware that I hate myself. I used to hate myself like Trip used to hate himself. But I thought I'd gotten better.
Maybe I'm just better at hiding it now.
She went through a few items that left me pretty convinced that no, I'm not even better at hiding it. And I came to the realisation that I didn't have any idea why I hated me either. Yeah, right now my self worth is amazingly tied up with my total lack of income. But the pattern goes further back than that. If my friend Ossian were living here, he would probably be able to tell me why I hate myself. He is whipsmart and very insightful.
All I know for sure is that most of the time I'm pretty sure I can't be as clever and well-read and keen and nice as I seem to have fooled people into thinking I am, and sooner or later somebody's going to find out they've been suckered and everybody will hate me.
So here's where I expose that. Hey, everybody! I'm fucking faking it. I very rarely feel clever, and often worry about my inability to think on my feet and the lack of original thought and preponderance of recycled wit in my communications. I feel like I lack much of the knowledge that people seem to have that tells them 'this is what you do in situation (x)' and so I kind of guess at what would be the right thing. Because saying 'damn. I have no idea what you're supposed to do here' makes me feel like a complete waste. And half the time I guess wrong and I can feel the entire world looking at me and thinking 'What an idiot.' God that was hard to write. Because although the forebrain says 'Now we'll see, when nobody curses and rails against you, how silly that thought was,' the reptile brain is thrashing and says 'Holy Shit! Don't tell them that! What an idiot!'

Okay. I've written and deleted about 500 words now, and none of them said what I wanted to say. Of course, most of that is that I have no idea what I want to say. If I could sleep, I would. But that's not going to happen. I've apparently been frightening the people who know me. And I'm sorry for that. My only excuse is that I thought I was taking care of things, doing what needed doing. Whatever the hell that is.
WHAT AM I DOING? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?
There is an ugly dark savage part of me that wants me to destroy myself. That knows I must destroy myself. Because I've done something to deserve it. And I'm afraid of that part of me because it seems strong and capable and decisive and all those things that I don't feel like I am. And it doesn't talk to me. It just acts.
This entry isn't for anybody but me. If you've read this far, I'm sorry. But you were warned. I have to go throw up now. Oh, by the way: that bit where I said I was just faking it? That was a joke. I'm fine, really. Just fine.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

You thought you'd be out of here by now what about me. Where is that magic pill that will make us like NORMAL people. You said things I have thought for years and couldn't say out loud. Others don't realize how hard it is to live with that other person we carry around with us. Either that or they are just faking it better than we are doing.
Sleep but to dream, scarey nightmares, and wake in a sweat, with your heart pounding and knowing that in the morning you won't be quite as scared. Maybe it is something going around. I know that you would feel better if you could work. I am proud of your accomplishment, they may not seem great to you but I have seen you struggle and know how hard it is. The saddest thing for me is that I can't take back the genes that I gave you that have made your life so hard.

[(Anonymous)]

P.S. I know that you are just fine. So am I. If you need me call.

"Fooled people into thinking [you] are"

[ex-lucianus799.livejournal.com]

Hi, hon --

I know how it feels to have a reptile brain whispering of being a Great Big Fake -- and I'm not going to try to explain away those feelings because feelings are what they are. My forebrain rather took amusement in my reptile brain's insinuations, responding, "Well, then either you're a brilliant pretender and your cohorts are rather dull -- or you're smoking dope."

And in my case, there's some of both. I've talked my way into and out of some situations, for a variety of not-always-consciously-self-directed motivations. And to use your words, I'm not "as clever and well-read and keen and nice" as I perceive people to regard me. I know there's a survival mode in my psyche that takes over and ruthlessly offers plausible sentiments that I wholeheartedly want to believe, whether or not I truly do. (I'm beating it down as I speak so I can be blunt instead of soothing because, right now, I want you to know that you're not alone.) But I know I'm not a complete fake because I am sensitive to human suffering, especially the well-being of those exemplary individuals like yourself who I have grown to know and admire.

Gentlemen know their own, my friend. I myself "very rarely feel clever, and often worry about my inability to think on my feet and the lack of original thought and preponderance of recycled wit in my communications." I mentioned as much in my first journal entry when I noted that I was terrible at LARPs for my dull wits. I can be charming, as myself, but that is entirely separate from being clever, quick-witted, or original.

And just like you, I fall back on social conventions and very occasional wild-ass guessing in those situations I am unclueful in. But perhaps unlike you, I see this as a positive thing: I value courtesy in unexpected circumstances, and a willingness to venture a courteous intent despite the ignorance of the polite forms shows a courage and earnestness that I envy.

My genes are not your genes. I've always had a stubbornly and embarassingly accepting opinion of myself and I've never quite faced the prospect of being indicted, exonerated, or otherwise diagnosed for off-nominal brain chemistry (though my sister is so reclusive as to be suspected of suffering from depression), so I will not insult your life experience by saying that I know *exactly* what you're going through.

I will say that you have friends that, fooled or not, care about your happiness and well-being.

Take care,
-Stuart

rambling reply

[diony.livejournal.com]

We're all faking it, I think. Not about whether or not we like ourselves, necessarily, but knowing what to do, how to be, *who* to be. I just think some of us are a lot more aware that we're faking it than others.

I'm not trying to invalidate your pain. Your pain is real. And big. And scary. But the voice that says, "Everyone else knows, everyone else has it figured out, everyone else is on top of this being a person thing, and as soon as they figure out I'm not, they're going to turn on me" -- that voice isn't telling you about the reality you're living in right now. Maybe it's telling you the truth about some past reality, but not this one.

This all probably sounds pretty cliched, but -- life is a process. Being is a process. Everyone is just stumbling around, trying to figure it out. Yah, some people probably do have it more figured out than others, but like *anything* worth doing, there's always more to figure out.

If none of this is helpful (and I realise it probably won't be) then remember this: Your friends are not going to reject or abandon you because you are in pain, because you're confused, because you're scared, because you don't feel like you're the person they see you as. You *are* clever, even if you don't feel clever. You are kind, and intelligent, and keen, and nice. Even when you don't feel those things, or if you fail don't act those things, they are still part of who you are.

Hang in there, please.

Still Hanging In There

[tamago.livejournal.com]

If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, why not call it a duck? By the same token, if you look to be courteous and clever, and seem to regurgitate the right words at the right cue, you're doing a hell of a lot better than many folks who have no clue and don't even know who to imitate. And that's just ducky.

But, yes, I know this jocularity doesn't help anything in the slightest. And some things you just have to work out on your own. But, if you need your friends, we are here for you.

In the meantime, might I recommend "The Stormy Search for the Self" by Stanislav and Christina Grof? This book marked a turning point in my depression, and maybe it's complete bunkum, but it is a different approach to depression and other conditions that, to me, falls under the "chicken soup" category: it can't hurt, and it might make you feel better.

Symbolically speaking, the part of you that is saying you must die may have metaphorical truth. If you are to find peace with yourself, that part of you that beats yourself up and whispers how horrible you are must "die". Just don't confuse that bit of you with *all* of you. You are more than your self-hatred. Your body, your spirit, your heart, your essential coyoteness is loved and worthy. And don't think dying has to involve blood or knives or actual death in any literal sense.

The primary focus of the work is how to interpret strong psychological truths and work through them without destroying yourself in the process.

Just read the book, and then throw it at my head for being hopelessly upbeat and useless.

(((hug)))

[miss-friday.livejournal.com]

People are like icebergs (No, they aren't cold.), the observer can only see about 10% of what is there. Only you know what you're feeling, and only you can make it better. Your friends and family can help, but in the end there is only you. Want to exile the demons? Love yourself as we all love you, unconditionally and as a complete package. Allow yourself the same compassion you extend to your friends.

Got news for you kid. Everyone fakes it, almost all of the time. Those who don't or who think they don't deep down inside are the truly abnormal ones. The rest of us muddle through, presenting a brave and confident front which looks a lot like a soundstage flat. Same thing goes with originality. When you come down to the nub of it, it's all been said before. Beauty is the in the variation, God is in the details.

People love you dearly; they love all of you, not just selected bits. Have faith in that and draw strength from it. You are one of the richest people I know in the only way that really matters.

A.G.H.

[ambar.livejournal.com]

There's not a lot to say about this that I haven't already said, at one time or another. But two brief thoughts:

1) I feel mildly fraudulent every time I get another pay stub in the mail. ("They pay me HOW MUCH for WHAT?")

2) Not all of the voices in your head are telling the truth.

Whipsmart & Insightful (tm) reply

[ossian.livejournal.com]

The self-hatred, I think, has much to do with your perception that problems you are dealing with today are the same problems that you were dealing with years ago. Worse, because of various personal issues, many times you brood a bit about those issues, but don't take coherent or decisive actions. You begin to suspect that you are poor because you are an inertia-ridden loser, that lovers leave because you fail entirely to take action in meaningful ways to advance and enrich the relationship...stuff like that.

You're not judging this right. Stop that.

You are judging your results by the same gauge that you use to judge a Straight-Normal person, and you miss both of those marks by a few notches. The ADD alone is sufficient that you should not be looking at your life and expecting that you can take command of it in the same way that I would; I haven't ADD & I am a control freak. I will get wildly different (although not much better) results.

I know a few people with ADD, odd tastes in relationships & lifestyles, and several of the other issues you cope with. You are on top of the stack. Doesn't mean you shouldn't feel drear when you notice that most of your life doesn't meet your approval. Doesn't mean you shouldn't bitch about that. But, hey, kid, you don't beat a dog because it's the wrong breed and color. So why are you doing that to yourself?

Besides, you entertain me and feed my self-esteem with your attentions. There is no higher calling in life. You should feel nothing but honor and pleasure that you have such a high position in the universe, and that you fulfill it so well.

'Course, I might be entirely off base. I'll be down in the BA fairly often in the next year; I'll buy us vino and beers and you can tell me all about how screwed up my Whipsmart Insight (tm) is tonight.

Hugs, ducky--

--Scott