(no subject)
"Hey victim, should I black your eyes again?
Hey victim, you are the one who put the stick in my hand
I am the ism, my hate's a prison"
One of the scenes in American Beauty which sticks with me more than any others is when Annette Benning's character is sitting in the car, holding the gun, and crying out that she will not be a victim, that she will not allow herself to become the victim. All of the desperation that she feels I felt like I tied into myself so entirely...the tears and the gun represent such a juxtoposition of my attempts at feeling adequate, at controlling my own life and destiny, over my hopeless nature to allow myself to be hurt.
I've always seen what I call "self-made victims" as being so pathetic, so unworthy of pity or sympathy. People who get themselves into situations where they are set up to be hurt, and then allow the other to hurt them, almost as a mechanism of self-destruction, repulse me. As in the line above, it's as if one will hand you the stick, bend over to be beaten, and then report to friends about how hurt they were and expect teary eyes and tragedy. And more often then not, everyone else hands this over. I don't think it's always a completely intentional thing...perhaps just an act of desperation on the part of everyone's friend, the subconcious, to gather attention. But it has always left me feeling so bitter towards the person...I want to scream out "Well don't let him/her hurt you! You put yourself in this situation!" Perhaps this is completely cold hearted, but it's always been my sentiments.
But they say that the characteristics we hate most in others are those that we recognize as strongest in ourselves. Most especially in these last few weeks, I have entirely let myself become controlled by my own victimization. So I had 2 bad experiences with boys this week, but why do I feel the need to tell people? I could simply put them away in my head for future reference on what not to do, but instead I tell so many people, and get so many "heartfelt sorrows" that I really don't need because they don't really change the way that I already feel inside. But perhaps it makes me feel more important, gives me some burst of life to have other people look on me with sympathy. It's like a weak imitation of the rush that one can get when being complimented for their good qualities. But perhaps when you are not being complimented, it is an act of self-need.
I mean, look at livejournal. So I had a really horrible experience, and I'm going to tell every one of my friends about it...what kind of decision is that? Is it my attempt to gather praise or to be reassured that I really am of value to others? My blatant statements of not having friends that care about me...what is that more than me hoping that a few of my friends will comment on the entry with some statement of praise and love that will make me feel better the next morning when I wake up feeling just as disconnected from everyone and sad?
Or melodramatic emotions...what is it in me that feels the need to drag others down with the ship? But so many people that I have known, even some of the best, do this. I'm in a sour mood, so I'm going to inform someone right after they tell me they're doing wonderful simply out of hopes that if they are down in the depths with me, they will help me drudge out? No, it's some sort of sick self-destruction is what I realize more and more. It's like cutting.
Those people that cut, not for attention, but because they honestly feel it gives them some sense of life...those people do it because it reassures them that they still feel, that they still exist. Or at least that's what I understand. And people who destroy themselves through words, like myself, are we any better? What is complaining other than seeking that same assurance in a different venue? Instead of letting my blood convince me I'm real, which has never been something that worked for me, I'll post a depressing entry and see how many comments I get telling me I'm wonderful and I mean everything to so and so.
Tonight, after Kate's dinner party, Laura and I briefly talked about how we all try to one up each other to appear smart...we were talking about books, and it was like a contest to see who could mention the most books they had read. And I wanted to comment that I agreed but at the same time I realized completely that I was partaking in the exact same conversation and having just as much to do with it as anyone else, so what right did I have to say such a thing? But the thing is, it's true. It's like ego-masterbation to point out the number of books one has read, the number of independant musicians one knows of, the knowledge of underground film that one possesses. And I'm starting to hate the fact that I partake in these contests of intellect as much as the next person.
You only ask how someone else's weekend was so you can tell them about your own, no?
The honest thing is, I know my own value, my own worth. I know my own potential, and I know everything that I need to do to get what I need and want out of life. I know what I'm going to do with school, but advice is something you ask for more to hear from people some assurance that what you already planned on doing is approved of, rather than something you ask for so that you can gather new ideas and thoughts. I sure have asked for a lot of advice, or at least brought the conversation up in the context to get advice. And it's making me feel disgusted by myself in retrospect.
But what more are artists? We throw our shit out there in hopes that someone will look at it and say, "Darling, please don't be sad. Look at the beauty you made." Those who honestly, truly create, do it because they need to release something for their own good, not for the reactions that it will bring in return. Bob Dylan once said in an interview that he never read reviews of his own work nor listened to his own albums after the final recording and mixing was done. Perhaps the reason I've been so stunted on my own creations is that I've been focused on how it will be taken, as opposed to what it means to me.
And perhaps it's time I close the door a little. I used to think it was a really amazing quality to be able to open with everybody, but perhaps it's more important that I allow myself to be the only one involved in some aspects of my life. I have a wonderful friend who talking to makes me feel joyful and relieved, and what more do I need than her at this point? Maybe I just need to be someone who's cool and fun to hang out with and allow emotional openness to come at a slower rate. Funny how wearing your heart on your shoulder has become almost a think to be prideful of nowadays. But when I was little, my mom told me numerous times to hide my heart. I think she was entirely correct.
Hey victim, you are the one who put the stick in my hand
I am the ism, my hate's a prison"
One of the scenes in American Beauty which sticks with me more than any others is when Annette Benning's character is sitting in the car, holding the gun, and crying out that she will not be a victim, that she will not allow herself to become the victim. All of the desperation that she feels I felt like I tied into myself so entirely...the tears and the gun represent such a juxtoposition of my attempts at feeling adequate, at controlling my own life and destiny, over my hopeless nature to allow myself to be hurt.
I've always seen what I call "self-made victims" as being so pathetic, so unworthy of pity or sympathy. People who get themselves into situations where they are set up to be hurt, and then allow the other to hurt them, almost as a mechanism of self-destruction, repulse me. As in the line above, it's as if one will hand you the stick, bend over to be beaten, and then report to friends about how hurt they were and expect teary eyes and tragedy. And more often then not, everyone else hands this over. I don't think it's always a completely intentional thing...perhaps just an act of desperation on the part of everyone's friend, the subconcious, to gather attention. But it has always left me feeling so bitter towards the person...I want to scream out "Well don't let him/her hurt you! You put yourself in this situation!" Perhaps this is completely cold hearted, but it's always been my sentiments.
But they say that the characteristics we hate most in others are those that we recognize as strongest in ourselves. Most especially in these last few weeks, I have entirely let myself become controlled by my own victimization. So I had 2 bad experiences with boys this week, but why do I feel the need to tell people? I could simply put them away in my head for future reference on what not to do, but instead I tell so many people, and get so many "heartfelt sorrows" that I really don't need because they don't really change the way that I already feel inside. But perhaps it makes me feel more important, gives me some burst of life to have other people look on me with sympathy. It's like a weak imitation of the rush that one can get when being complimented for their good qualities. But perhaps when you are not being complimented, it is an act of self-need.
I mean, look at livejournal. So I had a really horrible experience, and I'm going to tell every one of my friends about it...what kind of decision is that? Is it my attempt to gather praise or to be reassured that I really am of value to others? My blatant statements of not having friends that care about me...what is that more than me hoping that a few of my friends will comment on the entry with some statement of praise and love that will make me feel better the next morning when I wake up feeling just as disconnected from everyone and sad?
Or melodramatic emotions...what is it in me that feels the need to drag others down with the ship? But so many people that I have known, even some of the best, do this. I'm in a sour mood, so I'm going to inform someone right after they tell me they're doing wonderful simply out of hopes that if they are down in the depths with me, they will help me drudge out? No, it's some sort of sick self-destruction is what I realize more and more. It's like cutting.
Those people that cut, not for attention, but because they honestly feel it gives them some sense of life...those people do it because it reassures them that they still feel, that they still exist. Or at least that's what I understand. And people who destroy themselves through words, like myself, are we any better? What is complaining other than seeking that same assurance in a different venue? Instead of letting my blood convince me I'm real, which has never been something that worked for me, I'll post a depressing entry and see how many comments I get telling me I'm wonderful and I mean everything to so and so.
Tonight, after Kate's dinner party, Laura and I briefly talked about how we all try to one up each other to appear smart...we were talking about books, and it was like a contest to see who could mention the most books they had read. And I wanted to comment that I agreed but at the same time I realized completely that I was partaking in the exact same conversation and having just as much to do with it as anyone else, so what right did I have to say such a thing? But the thing is, it's true. It's like ego-masterbation to point out the number of books one has read, the number of independant musicians one knows of, the knowledge of underground film that one possesses. And I'm starting to hate the fact that I partake in these contests of intellect as much as the next person.
You only ask how someone else's weekend was so you can tell them about your own, no?
The honest thing is, I know my own value, my own worth. I know my own potential, and I know everything that I need to do to get what I need and want out of life. I know what I'm going to do with school, but advice is something you ask for more to hear from people some assurance that what you already planned on doing is approved of, rather than something you ask for so that you can gather new ideas and thoughts. I sure have asked for a lot of advice, or at least brought the conversation up in the context to get advice. And it's making me feel disgusted by myself in retrospect.
But what more are artists? We throw our shit out there in hopes that someone will look at it and say, "Darling, please don't be sad. Look at the beauty you made." Those who honestly, truly create, do it because they need to release something for their own good, not for the reactions that it will bring in return. Bob Dylan once said in an interview that he never read reviews of his own work nor listened to his own albums after the final recording and mixing was done. Perhaps the reason I've been so stunted on my own creations is that I've been focused on how it will be taken, as opposed to what it means to me.
And perhaps it's time I close the door a little. I used to think it was a really amazing quality to be able to open with everybody, but perhaps it's more important that I allow myself to be the only one involved in some aspects of my life. I have a wonderful friend who talking to makes me feel joyful and relieved, and what more do I need than her at this point? Maybe I just need to be someone who's cool and fun to hang out with and allow emotional openness to come at a slower rate. Funny how wearing your heart on your shoulder has become almost a think to be prideful of nowadays. But when I was little, my mom told me numerous times to hide my heart. I think she was entirely correct.