Feast of the Self-Indulgent Magpies
So here’s the problem: Almost four (!!) years ago, I started writing here because I knew this part of me was really wrong. I was afraid to speak my mind. I was more worried about hurting someone else’s feelings than I was worried about smothering my own personal opinion. And smothering I was, more every day in efforts to get rid of this horrible idea that I might open my mouth and be marked as offensive or unlovable or wrong. I was fairly disturbed to see that with each passing season, I was becoming expert at shutting my mouth instead of opening it. Unfortunately, the more I did that the better it didn’t get.
When I started here, I thought I was being brave. I keep writing that last part and trying to add a ‘because’ in there to justify. But mostly I just thought I was being brave, saying stuff to a faceless internet, not using my name. And mostly what I learned was that people are not as condemning as I thought they were.
When I figured that out, I thought I had cured myself by creating this alternate personality who could say what she thought. And in real life, I started speaking my mind more. If people gave me weird looks, it didn’t crush me like I thought it might. Which, that last sentence sounds like I am some feeble fucking flower, but that’s how it felt. And for a little while, I felt like I had done something that had made me better and healthier.
But then this really shitty thing happened. I started responding to comments and emailing and making friends as Anne. And then these little things started happening, like I would shave my thoughts down to be more palatable. Eventually, when something embarrassing or sad happened to me, I would worry you wouldn’t like hearing about it.
Like lately, I’ve been thinking there are too many sad posts. People won’t read too many sad posts! Better say something happy! And I could feel Anne dying. Under the emotional pillow I had pressed over her face. And even though she was smothering, I couldn’t get my head out of my ass long enough to worry about anything more than where you might go if I stopped saying funny stuff. Don’t mind that corpse in the corner! Look at meeeeee. And please, leave another fucking comment to validate my existence.
Waaay back two or three years ago, I considered writing in my ABOUT section that I won’t respond to most emails or comments. I talked myself out of it because hello, pretentious! Too busy to say hi, are we? But the reason I wanted to was because my need to be liked is so desperate that if I am friends with you, I can’t help but try to say what I think you want to hear. And the thing that keeps me sane is being free from that in this space. If not, I’m turning on my computer and waiting for you to email me to tell me who I am. And that’s not your job, is it?
And ohmigod, the magpies in my head are mocking me to death with this post. Sooooo self involved and indulgent! And bad, bad, bad. Oh well.