Love and Loathing in Gallifrey
I am currently experiencing a unique crisis.
I feel that popular culture is an excellent mirror inwards to yourself, or can be if done well. In particular the things you’ve left unaccomplished.
You see: When I was a teenager I wanted to become an actress. I think a lot of kids did, it’s the in thing to do. As an adult I can see that my extreme social anxiety and lack of motivation to try harder would have been great stumbling blocks. Also, I’m a rubbish actress. I could have gotten better, but my parents wanted something else for me, and well… Who doesn’t want to please their parents? Probably quite a few teenagers. I am the real world equivalent of “failure to launch” and I feel as though I am the latest of bloomers (which sounds odd). I am married, I have two wonderful kids
But, I don’t love me.
I have been feeling a discontentment rising within myself lately. I have this continuous loop of disapproval running through my head. That I’m broken, I’m weird, I’m a freak, that I should be ashamed. I’m not sure where all the negativity comes from. My parents were good parents, they love(d, now and then) me. I am the apple of their eye, and as my dad always says, his favorite daughter. Which is really easy when I”m the only one.
I have big dreams. I keep them locked and hidden away. I want to travel, I want to make something great, I want to be great, I want people to know who I am and I just want to stand out from the crowd a little. I don’t want to be the imaginary friend anymore. Which is what I call myself at work because despite being a trainer, and the first person that everyone in my department goes through to get hired, I am easily forgotten. I am desperately lonely.
I have been watching Doctor Who lately. It inspires me to think about my goals. How awesome would it be to write for TV? How awesome would it be to have someone read what I write, Period. Having someone read what I write and like it, it’s the ultimate high, for me anyway, the mormon girl who gets sick from taking too many tylenol.
(Sukie I promised less sadsack I know, but I can’t help how I’m feeling)
A friend of mine has a friend who used to write for Doctor Who. Which is amazing. I lack the confidence to even try writing much of anything. And as sad as it is, I admire Stephenie Meyer still because even though her writing isn’t like War and Peace or anything, I admire her for carving out time in her life for herself to accomplish something. I don’t feel like I deserve it. I think If I could find out why I hate myself so much it’d be the key to everything.
I’m the person who restarts her tetris game if one piece is out of place, I trash it and start over. It’s not perfect, and so it’s useless. Maybe that’s it. I’m not perfect, so I’m useless. What a horrible train of thought. Maybe I have a hard time remembering that God Loves me still or something. Or maybe it doesn’t matter who else in the flippin’ Universe does, because If I can’t find something awesome to love about me, it doesn’t really matter who else does.
Another friend of mine recently visited. She lives in Washington, which I still find more glamorous than my life. We were going to meet up. I thought about it a lot. and I just felt like “My house isn’t clean, and I’m up like 70+lbs since she saw me last, I think I’d rather die.” which once again, isn’t a great way to think. How much of my life am I going to let pass me by because I’m not perfect? Why am I so afraid to fail. Who is going to be mad at me? I will I suppose and that’s bad enough.
When I was in high school, I had a really great friend who asked me what I was doing after high school, and I said that I’d probably get married (I had no prospects of such in sight, despite having a VERY non-serious dating relationship with a guy.) and she was disappointing me in me for not wanting more for myself. Maybe that’s just it. I’ll live a half life. A life full of mistakes and disappointments, for not taking what I could get. I had a teacher in college who thought all of my stuff should be prose, but I’m crap at prose (was and still am) I’m better at vignette’s for the imagery. Why can’t i ask myself to do more, go outside of the box, and dig deep and give MORE.
I’m a compare-r. I compare a lot. To the people around me, the people my age. What have I done with my life?
Maybe I’m thinking about it too hard. Maybe not hard enough. I just want people to remember me.
Derringer Meryl [Help] Out
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You need to find a way to be happy even if shit around you is falling apart. Be a little selfish and go find happiness . . .I don’t want to sound horrible but therapy did wonders for me.
Life functions on two planes, Mer. The dance floor. And the balcony. When you’re on the dance floor, all you can see is what’s in front of you. The dance floor is packed with you, your responsibilities and the goings on of your life. You can’t see the big picture. You can’t see what matters. But when you get up on the balcony and look at yourself from a different perspective, you’ll see a whole lot more.
You said, “I just want people to remember me.” Let me provide you your wish.
You will be remembered. By all the people that truly matter: friends, family, your husband, your children. I see the allure of other people remembering you, but you’re set with the ones who truly count. I remember you all the time.
I also remember being disappointed that you didn’t want more. It’s funny how the definition of “more” for a person can change over time. When we were teenagers, having “more” to me was about breaking out of the Utah shell and being independent. I did that. And it was mostly great. And then I wanted…more. So…I…got…married. And someday, when I want a little more, I’ll probably adopt a couple kids. My opinions have certainly shifted over the years. I decided I wanted more out of my life than to be stuck with ad agencies forever. So I am punishing myself through a master’s degree in something other than what I do.
We were best friends and my job was to support you. Instead, I tried to control you. And while I can’t do anything to change that day that I said that to you, or to change the fact that it has stuck with you all this time, I want you to know that I truly and firmly do believe now that “MORE” is what YOU make of it. Nobody else matters in what constitutes MORE to YOU.
There are many things that we can’t control. We can’t control each other. We can’t control situations that are made by other people. We can’t control the weather. The only things we can really control are how we act and what we believe. If you want more, then I will support you to get to where you want to go. If you decide that what you have IS more, then I will support that too.
I love you.
Thanks both of you. Sukie, you don’t sound horrible at all. I love you and you’re the best. I probably could stand with some more therapy since I’d rather not take any medication.
Amy, Thank you for all your kind words. I think of you often. I even got my letter from Ms. Hart a while back which was mainly about you. I admire you so for having so much tenacity and vivaciousness. It always seemed like you were the girl with the plan. I love you too. We’ll see what the future brings, but for now I think I’ll focus on what I have, and appreciating it.