I just...I hate myself. More than I can express. I've been down this road many times before, and not every time has been recorded on this blog. I have failed to live up to the few commitments I have, for no particular reason than that I don't want to.
What kind of idiot has my life and lets it go to waste, simply from apathy?...Is it just apathy? Of course, there's a more-than-healthy heaping of self-loathing too, but part of that stems from my apathy. I wear myself down making myself feel bad for not being better than I am, and as a result, I fall short of even what little that I really am.
Why? It's not even like this self-inflicted cycle of damage, psychological or otherwise, is something I couldn't put a stop to if I wanted to. But it's not right to say that I don't want to stop going along as I am. I hate myself, but...now that I'm thinking about it, more for what I'm not than what I am. Is that absurd? Is it normal to feel a tinge of hatred for yourself everytime you look in the mirror, everytime that you look deeply into your own eyes and think, "Who the fuck is that"?
The problems are the same as always: low self-confidence in every regard (looks, intelligence, social skills, laziness, etc., etc.) makes me so depressed that I don't take care of myself, I don't do work, I don't even...think, at least not in a way any deeper than is required to write something as self-pitying, self-loathing, shitty, worthless, pointless, and stupid as this.
I thought, for the longest time, that even with my occasional downcast spells, I was doing better. Then, this semester comes along, and I wonder just how the hell someone as worthless as me is still existing. I tried to do the right things this semester...until I realized it was futile, and that I couldn't do anything to improve my life that wouldn't seem desperate and contrived.
Seriously, who does that? Who has opportunities to make things better for themselves, is perfectly cognizant of that fact, and then doesn't just pass them up, but thinks, "I'm not worth it, and even if I was, I'd look stupid for trying"? Who that isn't a depressed 13-year old girl, metaphorically punches himself in the face like that? Repeatedly, over years and years?
I think I'm seeing, evermore clearly, that that's pretty much what I am--a depressed teenage girl. Except, I envy even her; at least she could be pretty.
So pathetic....
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Maybe I am that stupid....
I'm feeling really annoyed with myself. Not necessarily more than usual on a quantitative level, but qualitatively.
I mean, could I have been more than I am right now? Yes, I know I could have. Maybe the real problem is that I just don't have the patience to "give it my all". Or maybe my life has been too easy for me to see the value in doing so. Certainly, at this point in time and considering my family, it's too soon to have had the sort of experience that tells me one way or the other what level of input/output disequilibrium I'm willing to tolerate. But, at the same time, I'm pissed off at myself for almost always, with very few exceptions, taking life as easy as I have since high school. And retrospectively, since high school, that I didn't have the level of self-awareness earlier on in life that might have put me in a totally different position than I am in now.
I hate to sound like I'm complaining about my life now; in truth, I'm not. It really is objectively nearly as good as I could ask for it to be. I've got enough spare cash to indulge in fun or buy extra food occassionally if I like. And my perspective on things has loostened up enough that I'll actually let myself buy extra food. I live in a comfy-ish dorm, am receiving higher education, and generally don't have to stress too much about anything. But ignoring the stress part, which obviously most people want to avoid as much as possible, I keep thinking about what more I could and should do.
I have enough spare cash mostly from extra loan money, so I don't work; I applied to a few jobs but I haven't heard back from them and have stopped looking. I was actually in the process of signing up to volunteer as a reading tutor for 2nd and 3rd graders, but I didn't follow through. I'm leading the college's very small philosophical discussion group, and it seems to be dying before my eyes. I don't frequently read unless I have to, save for newspaper and magazine articles, and the very occasional academic journal. I don't work out, despite all my whining about my appearance, because I'd rather sit around doing stuff like this. I no longer try actively to socialize for the plethora of reasons I've mentioned repeatedly before. I don't generally put more effort into school than is necessary to get by with a 3.2-something GPA. I don't do many outdoor recreational activities. I just don't do much of anything other than waste my time.
And the worst part about it is that I don't mind that. I don't mind that I'm letting the prime years of my life slip behind me unnoticed and, save for the knowledge of what could have been, unmissed. I know I should do more, and I want to be the sort of person who wants to do more; I just can't bring myself to that point. I'm apathetic to the point that it bothers me, and I don't know why. It's not like I enjoy myself on a daily basis doing what I do, I just don't seem to care enough to figure out and do what I enjoy doing. But that can't be totally true; if it made me miserable, I'd change it, right?
Occassionally in the past, and much more frequently as of late, I have a picture of what I want my life to be like for the next 10-15 years. And despite my intermittent desires to have a family, volunteer, learn to cook, learn foreign languages, travel, be outdoors-y, it's been coming to much, much less for a good while now.
Save for having a body that I love, and being able to sleep around as much as I please, have a cheap-and-frugal but fun-to-drive car, and a respectable apartment. From my perspective, all that means I don't want any major changes. I just want to find somewhere to live (San Diego holds a lot of appeal for me, for some reason), work as a mechanic or some other such skilled-but-non-intellectual job, and spend my spare time watching TV and movies. I don't even think that'd cover most of my time, but I think I'd just spend the rest doing what I do here: thinking aloud and wasting days accomplishing nothing real. The scary part for me is that I'm not on track for that, nor am I really on track for that alternative, sunny future I sometimes want and appear to be working towards now. Like I said, the worst part is I have no real desire to change this situation, although I know I can't go on like this forever.
Again I have to ask, what is wrong with me?
I mean, could I have been more than I am right now? Yes, I know I could have. Maybe the real problem is that I just don't have the patience to "give it my all". Or maybe my life has been too easy for me to see the value in doing so. Certainly, at this point in time and considering my family, it's too soon to have had the sort of experience that tells me one way or the other what level of input/output disequilibrium I'm willing to tolerate. But, at the same time, I'm pissed off at myself for almost always, with very few exceptions, taking life as easy as I have since high school. And retrospectively, since high school, that I didn't have the level of self-awareness earlier on in life that might have put me in a totally different position than I am in now.
I hate to sound like I'm complaining about my life now; in truth, I'm not. It really is objectively nearly as good as I could ask for it to be. I've got enough spare cash to indulge in fun or buy extra food occassionally if I like. And my perspective on things has loostened up enough that I'll actually let myself buy extra food. I live in a comfy-ish dorm, am receiving higher education, and generally don't have to stress too much about anything. But ignoring the stress part, which obviously most people want to avoid as much as possible, I keep thinking about what more I could and should do.
I have enough spare cash mostly from extra loan money, so I don't work; I applied to a few jobs but I haven't heard back from them and have stopped looking. I was actually in the process of signing up to volunteer as a reading tutor for 2nd and 3rd graders, but I didn't follow through. I'm leading the college's very small philosophical discussion group, and it seems to be dying before my eyes. I don't frequently read unless I have to, save for newspaper and magazine articles, and the very occasional academic journal. I don't work out, despite all my whining about my appearance, because I'd rather sit around doing stuff like this. I no longer try actively to socialize for the plethora of reasons I've mentioned repeatedly before. I don't generally put more effort into school than is necessary to get by with a 3.2-something GPA. I don't do many outdoor recreational activities. I just don't do much of anything other than waste my time.
And the worst part about it is that I don't mind that. I don't mind that I'm letting the prime years of my life slip behind me unnoticed and, save for the knowledge of what could have been, unmissed. I know I should do more, and I want to be the sort of person who wants to do more; I just can't bring myself to that point. I'm apathetic to the point that it bothers me, and I don't know why. It's not like I enjoy myself on a daily basis doing what I do, I just don't seem to care enough to figure out and do what I enjoy doing. But that can't be totally true; if it made me miserable, I'd change it, right?
Occassionally in the past, and much more frequently as of late, I have a picture of what I want my life to be like for the next 10-15 years. And despite my intermittent desires to have a family, volunteer, learn to cook, learn foreign languages, travel, be outdoors-y, it's been coming to much, much less for a good while now.
Save for having a body that I love, and being able to sleep around as much as I please, have a cheap-and-frugal but fun-to-drive car, and a respectable apartment. From my perspective, all that means I don't want any major changes. I just want to find somewhere to live (San Diego holds a lot of appeal for me, for some reason), work as a mechanic or some other such skilled-but-non-intellectual job, and spend my spare time watching TV and movies. I don't even think that'd cover most of my time, but I think I'd just spend the rest doing what I do here: thinking aloud and wasting days accomplishing nothing real. The scary part for me is that I'm not on track for that, nor am I really on track for that alternative, sunny future I sometimes want and appear to be working towards now. Like I said, the worst part is I have no real desire to change this situation, although I know I can't go on like this forever.
Again I have to ask, what is wrong with me?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Continued
(Yes, the title of this post is intentionally ambiguous. Do you like it? No? Well, it'll be obvious in a second anyway....)
So now that I'm back in the U.S., back at my uni, and back to the semi-daily grind, I'm reminded of all the other, slightly more pressing personal issues I face. The list:
1. I have no real passions, and therefore don't really know what to do with myself
2. I have no confidence or comfort with myself, and therefore don't know whom to turn to for/how to seek aid in these matters
3. Because of (1) and (2), am stuck in a position where:
a. I don't want to do anything
b. I don't want to figure out how to not want to do nothing
This list is, I'm sure, not unique to me, nor is it comprehensive, nor even very descriptive of the way I feel on a semi-hourly basis. That aside...Case in point: I've signed up, perhaps stupidly, for two philosophy seminar courses this semester. Why? Well, I dunno. I originally signed up for one, and even now after a mere three weeks in that one, I'm not sure that I understand/care enough to try to understand what is being taught. The other should be good, but I joined it recently enough that I can't say for sure, and in truth, I don't care enough about either at this point to want to put in the effort necessary to actually enjoy them later.
Additionally, after having taken two years of essentially a sham of a Chinese language course, and having received an award for the second year of it, I dropped out because now, three years in, the administers of the program decide to treat it like an actual language course, and thus believe that spending four hours outside of class for every one hour in class (in a class that meets for 5 and 1/2 hours ever week) is a reasonable expectation when previously 1/2 an hour sufficed for an entire week; language acquisition does not work retroactively in the way they seem to want it to. The enrollment from the second to third year of Chinese dropped by about 80%. We are collectively wise, it seems. Laoshi should approve....
On the other hand, I have started Japanese and am fully cognizant of the fact that this is an actual language course in the way that that third year Chinese course is; also, because it's Introductory Japanese, they don't presume that you have two years of prior knowledge given to you when really you don't and it wasn't. After the first week of the class, and having learned of the grammatical similarities between Japanese and Korean, I am convinced I should have been taking Japanese all along. I am, however, very, very frustrated by the lacksadaisical manner in which the various publishers/distributors of my school books have decided to deliver what I paid for two weeks ago.
The gist of all that is that I still feel very much so as though I have no idea of what I really want to/am willing to tolerate doing with my life, and am much more comfortable with the untenable conditions in which I live now, which is particularly troubling considering the heapin' helpin' of loans that await me post-graduation, nevermind the continuing and deeply-affecting feeling of loneliness I have, which my summer experience did nothing to alleviate in the long-term, assuming it didn't exacerbate it, which it probably did.
Maybe I should just join the military. After all, free meals, free showers, forcing you to workout until you've got abs, arms, a butt, and a proper upper body, having most things decided for you on a daily basis, forced camaraderie? All in exchange for the chance to risk your life as an occupation? I don't even have the proper onomatopoeia to express my attitude toward all that.
Blarg? Yeah, maybe.
Blarg....
So now that I'm back in the U.S., back at my uni, and back to the semi-daily grind, I'm reminded of all the other, slightly more pressing personal issues I face. The list:
1. I have no real passions, and therefore don't really know what to do with myself
2. I have no confidence or comfort with myself, and therefore don't know whom to turn to for/how to seek aid in these matters
3. Because of (1) and (2), am stuck in a position where:
a. I don't want to do anything
b. I don't want to figure out how to not want to do nothing
This list is, I'm sure, not unique to me, nor is it comprehensive, nor even very descriptive of the way I feel on a semi-hourly basis. That aside...Case in point: I've signed up, perhaps stupidly, for two philosophy seminar courses this semester. Why? Well, I dunno. I originally signed up for one, and even now after a mere three weeks in that one, I'm not sure that I understand/care enough to try to understand what is being taught. The other should be good, but I joined it recently enough that I can't say for sure, and in truth, I don't care enough about either at this point to want to put in the effort necessary to actually enjoy them later.
Additionally, after having taken two years of essentially a sham of a Chinese language course, and having received an award for the second year of it, I dropped out because now, three years in, the administers of the program decide to treat it like an actual language course, and thus believe that spending four hours outside of class for every one hour in class (in a class that meets for 5 and 1/2 hours ever week) is a reasonable expectation when previously 1/2 an hour sufficed for an entire week; language acquisition does not work retroactively in the way they seem to want it to. The enrollment from the second to third year of Chinese dropped by about 80%. We are collectively wise, it seems. Laoshi should approve....
On the other hand, I have started Japanese and am fully cognizant of the fact that this is an actual language course in the way that that third year Chinese course is; also, because it's Introductory Japanese, they don't presume that you have two years of prior knowledge given to you when really you don't and it wasn't. After the first week of the class, and having learned of the grammatical similarities between Japanese and Korean, I am convinced I should have been taking Japanese all along. I am, however, very, very frustrated by the lacksadaisical manner in which the various publishers/distributors of my school books have decided to deliver what I paid for two weeks ago.
The gist of all that is that I still feel very much so as though I have no idea of what I really want to/am willing to tolerate doing with my life, and am much more comfortable with the untenable conditions in which I live now, which is particularly troubling considering the heapin' helpin' of loans that await me post-graduation, nevermind the continuing and deeply-affecting feeling of loneliness I have, which my summer experience did nothing to alleviate in the long-term, assuming it didn't exacerbate it, which it probably did.
Maybe I should just join the military. After all, free meals, free showers, forcing you to workout until you've got abs, arms, a butt, and a proper upper body, having most things decided for you on a daily basis, forced camaraderie? All in exchange for the chance to risk your life as an occupation? I don't even have the proper onomatopoeia to express my attitude toward all that.
Blarg? Yeah, maybe.
Blarg....
Oi....
Wouldn't ya know it, I'm back here again. I'd say, "Oh, so much has happened!" since my last post six months ago, and some interesting things have happened. But obviously, the fact that I'm back here talking about essentially the same stuff as I was before shows that ultimately, it's still the same.
(Of course, this being the first post in six months, it'll be a long one. Shocker, I know.)
I suppose it's best to start out with what has changed since my last post. The biggest thing, aside from finishing my junior year of college and entering my last year, was going to South Korea for a study abroad over a six-week period. It was...well...disappointing. Not the country; that was amazing, and I'm seriously planning on going back there to be an English teacher for at least a year. So much to do in such a wonderful, incredibly fascinating, inexplicably oft-overlooked place. No, South Korea was wonderful, as were all the people I met there: lots of Korean-Americans, mostly from California (there's a real dearth of them in the northeastern U.S.), and a lot of people from the rest of the country. Nevermind the interest in most things generally that the Korean people themselves piqued in me. The real disappointment in Seoul was, well, me.
I did my best. I tried, I really did. We started out with a three-day tour of Jeju Island, off the southern coast. It started out slowly, as I might have expected. I met some people, many who were nice, but none who made an immediate, dramatic first impression on me. Then I somehow got in with what I'm ashamed to say I thought of at first as "the cool crowd". I know, just like high school, right?
Not that there was anything that I discovered about any of them that I disliked, nor did they seem to be the sort of people most people would find anything wrong with (other than the nearly-continuous head-butting of two of the girls; it was like moderating a pair of moody 13-year olds). They were also quite an attractive bunch of people, which I suppose is where my adolescent mind got the whole "cool" picture from; nonetheless, it was a confidence booster that they accepted me so readily. Remember, this is essentially self-esteemless me we're talking about; I'd say I live for those sorts of moments if I believed that they were ever earnest as concerns me. Anyway....
So, whilst staying at the hotel on the island, there was a party held in one person's generously-sized room. It started out slow, small, and quiet, yet as these things are wont to do, quickly ballooned. Nonetheless, a guy had caught my eye from the outset. I assumed him straight, because that's the way these things seem to work with me. But we hit it off nonetheless, and the cramped-ness of the room meant we were in close physical proximity. His ease around me, and the fact that I wanted him to be, led me to think, "...hm, maybe he's not straight". Of course, despite my hopes, he was in fact straight. Dargnabit. Good looking, tall for a Korean guy, muscular/thickly built and capable of holding an intelligent, extended conversation on race relations/nationalism despite us both having had quite a bit to drink at this point. ****. O well. The first of many disappointments yet to come.
Of course, after that encounter was when things got, mmmm, interesting for me. The hotel was right on the coast, with a seawall just across the street from the hotel; this became the post-party cooldown/gathering spot. And to my surprise (though happily enough due to our collective tipsy-ness, not my chagrin), I began the sort of questioning that I secretly want to ask everyone. You know, the 13-year old girl ones like, "am I good looking", "do you think I'm attractive", etc. And I got a lot of affirmative replies; not of course from most of the guys, but from many of the girls, most of whom at this point knew I'm gay, and so did not have a an immediately-obvious stake in saying yay or nay. This would nonetheless play into my whole, "if I'm your friend, you want to keep me that way" idea, but we were all drunk and tired at that point; we'd say what we wanted. Nevermind there was a drunken, really very-cute-but-not-my-type Korean guy who was hanging around me the whole time. Hm. This makes it more interesting
After having left the island and returned to Seoul, the fabulously-attired, insanely hectic, and otherwise exhilarating metropolis, things began to be more normal, both generally and for me personally. As I split up from the group of people (mainly girls) whom I had bonded with on the island into different classes, I began to pull back into my shell (Is there some other analogy for that? There should be.). Nonetheless, some of them lasted past that initial foray in South Korea. I did end up hanging out with them, and we even went clubbing more than once. I had fun, and even made out with the aforementioned Korean hang-arounder that I didn't really find attractive, even if I envied his appearance.
(Sidenote: Gay guy has first kiss in Korea?? Whaaaat???)
But me? Clubbing? Yes, I hated it, too....And that's the part that sucks, I mean in retrospect, really, really sucks. It's not that I didn't want to go clubbing, just f**king lose my mind for once. And it's not necessarily the fact that I physically don't feel right in my own skin. It's that no one expects someone this tall to look right dancing, and I know that. I can't lose my mind because it just isn't done for some people. At this point, I'm not even sure that it's really in me to do so. So instead of just for once enjoying myself, I'm constantly thinking about how what I can't do is what I want to do because I can't stop thinking about what I can/want to do. My head it getting in the way, both literally via its altitude, and figuratively because I've got (and I know others have, too) preconceived notions about what is and isn't appropriate behavior for someone physically shaped the way I am. Never even mind that the physical shape I have has influenced my behavior such that I have these stifling conceptions about how someone shaped like me is supposed to behave. Ugh. Annoyed/disgusted with myself.
I'd tell the rest in detail, but aside from running into yet another straight guy whom I thought was perfect in oh-so-many ways (Good height and stocky? Viola player with a $66,000 viola? Economics and Philsophy major who got a perfect SAT score? What the m@&^%# f$@#ing f^&%?!?! Maybe God really does hate gay people. Or me, anyway. Bastard.), it was pretty much same-ol', same-ol': people don't call me, I don't call them because I assume they must not care to hang out because they haven't called, people don't call me because I don't call them, etc. ad infinitum. I still don't know how to gauge people's enjoyment of my company or their fondness for me generally. And I'm still stuck in the mindset of my physical appearance necessarily dictating my every social interaction, despite evidence that a.) it's a positive influence, and/or, b.) it's a negligible influence.
Although, while over there, I did come to the conclusion that one of my honest-to-goodness life goals is to become a sex object, and another one I'd be happy to settle with is the career of househusband. What the hell is wrong with me?
(Of course, this being the first post in six months, it'll be a long one. Shocker, I know.)
I suppose it's best to start out with what has changed since my last post. The biggest thing, aside from finishing my junior year of college and entering my last year, was going to South Korea for a study abroad over a six-week period. It was...well...disappointing. Not the country; that was amazing, and I'm seriously planning on going back there to be an English teacher for at least a year. So much to do in such a wonderful, incredibly fascinating, inexplicably oft-overlooked place. No, South Korea was wonderful, as were all the people I met there: lots of Korean-Americans, mostly from California (there's a real dearth of them in the northeastern U.S.), and a lot of people from the rest of the country. Nevermind the interest in most things generally that the Korean people themselves piqued in me. The real disappointment in Seoul was, well, me.
I did my best. I tried, I really did. We started out with a three-day tour of Jeju Island, off the southern coast. It started out slowly, as I might have expected. I met some people, many who were nice, but none who made an immediate, dramatic first impression on me. Then I somehow got in with what I'm ashamed to say I thought of at first as "the cool crowd". I know, just like high school, right?
Not that there was anything that I discovered about any of them that I disliked, nor did they seem to be the sort of people most people would find anything wrong with (other than the nearly-continuous head-butting of two of the girls; it was like moderating a pair of moody 13-year olds). They were also quite an attractive bunch of people, which I suppose is where my adolescent mind got the whole "cool" picture from; nonetheless, it was a confidence booster that they accepted me so readily. Remember, this is essentially self-esteemless me we're talking about; I'd say I live for those sorts of moments if I believed that they were ever earnest as concerns me. Anyway....
So, whilst staying at the hotel on the island, there was a party held in one person's generously-sized room. It started out slow, small, and quiet, yet as these things are wont to do, quickly ballooned. Nonetheless, a guy had caught my eye from the outset. I assumed him straight, because that's the way these things seem to work with me. But we hit it off nonetheless, and the cramped-ness of the room meant we were in close physical proximity. His ease around me, and the fact that I wanted him to be, led me to think, "...hm, maybe he's not straight". Of course, despite my hopes, he was in fact straight. Dargnabit. Good looking, tall for a Korean guy, muscular/thickly built and capable of holding an intelligent, extended conversation on race relations/nationalism despite us both having had quite a bit to drink at this point. ****. O well. The first of many disappointments yet to come.
Of course, after that encounter was when things got, mmmm, interesting for me. The hotel was right on the coast, with a seawall just across the street from the hotel; this became the post-party cooldown/gathering spot. And to my surprise (though happily enough due to our collective tipsy-ness, not my chagrin), I began the sort of questioning that I secretly want to ask everyone. You know, the 13-year old girl ones like, "am I good looking", "do you think I'm attractive", etc. And I got a lot of affirmative replies; not of course from most of the guys, but from many of the girls, most of whom at this point knew I'm gay, and so did not have a an immediately-obvious stake in saying yay or nay. This would nonetheless play into my whole, "if I'm your friend, you want to keep me that way" idea, but we were all drunk and tired at that point; we'd say what we wanted. Nevermind there was a drunken, really very-cute-but-not-my-type Korean guy who was hanging around me the whole time. Hm. This makes it more interesting
After having left the island and returned to Seoul, the fabulously-attired, insanely hectic, and otherwise exhilarating metropolis, things began to be more normal, both generally and for me personally. As I split up from the group of people (mainly girls) whom I had bonded with on the island into different classes, I began to pull back into my shell (Is there some other analogy for that? There should be.). Nonetheless, some of them lasted past that initial foray in South Korea. I did end up hanging out with them, and we even went clubbing more than once. I had fun, and even made out with the aforementioned Korean hang-arounder that I didn't really find attractive, even if I envied his appearance.
(Sidenote: Gay guy has first kiss in Korea?? Whaaaat???)
But me? Clubbing? Yes, I hated it, too....And that's the part that sucks, I mean in retrospect, really, really sucks. It's not that I didn't want to go clubbing, just f**king lose my mind for once. And it's not necessarily the fact that I physically don't feel right in my own skin. It's that no one expects someone this tall to look right dancing, and I know that. I can't lose my mind because it just isn't done for some people. At this point, I'm not even sure that it's really in me to do so. So instead of just for once enjoying myself, I'm constantly thinking about how what I can't do is what I want to do because I can't stop thinking about what I can/want to do. My head it getting in the way, both literally via its altitude, and figuratively because I've got (and I know others have, too) preconceived notions about what is and isn't appropriate behavior for someone physically shaped the way I am. Never even mind that the physical shape I have has influenced my behavior such that I have these stifling conceptions about how someone shaped like me is supposed to behave. Ugh. Annoyed/disgusted with myself.
I'd tell the rest in detail, but aside from running into yet another straight guy whom I thought was perfect in oh-so-many ways (Good height and stocky? Viola player with a $66,000 viola? Economics and Philsophy major who got a perfect SAT score? What the m@&^%# f$@#ing f^&%?!?! Maybe God really does hate gay people. Or me, anyway. Bastard.), it was pretty much same-ol', same-ol': people don't call me, I don't call them because I assume they must not care to hang out because they haven't called, people don't call me because I don't call them, etc. ad infinitum. I still don't know how to gauge people's enjoyment of my company or their fondness for me generally. And I'm still stuck in the mindset of my physical appearance necessarily dictating my every social interaction, despite evidence that a.) it's a positive influence, and/or, b.) it's a negligible influence.
Although, while over there, I did come to the conclusion that one of my honest-to-goodness life goals is to become a sex object, and another one I'd be happy to settle with is the career of househusband. What the hell is wrong with me?
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Talk
At this point in my life, I'm resigned to the fact that even when I'm with other people whom I'm at least supposed to feel close to, I'm lonely. It must just be a personality trait I have (or, as I've mentioned might be the case before, maybe it's just depression). I don't know if I just think too hard all the time, and that prevents a natural rapport from forming with other people, who may not think as much. Not to imply that they're thoughtless, I just really think I think too much for my own good.
Maybe I just haven't found anyone I really connect with. Even my closest friend is someone whom I don't like to initiate communication with, generally or on more personal issues, for fear that I'll bore her or that she has better things to do and I'll simply inconvenience her, nevermind that she seems to call me whenever the mood strikes her. Of course, that we now live in different cities most of the year means that we've grown a part since we graduated high school, but that's expected. For some reason though, I have yet to make any genuine friends over the past 2 years of attending this university, although I think, think, that things may be slowly changing.
But even still, I hate to initiate personal conversations with people. I generally assume that, because they have no reason to care about me before becoming genuine friends, they have no interest in what I have to say. Not even that I often have personal things to say; I don't do much, all said and done, and I often end up the listener in conversations because of that. Of course for that to happen, people need to be willing to open up and talk to me in the first place, ergo, I have to make myself at least seem interesting enough to reach that level of interpersonal relationship, which I don't like doing for the aforementioned reason of inflicting boredom and taking up others' time. I know that people learn that others care for them by trusting that shared private information will remain private (i.e., they expect to share/exchange information); it's sort of a tit for tat, but I'd far rather offer a tit than...give...a...tat(?).
Does this all sound crazy? And if not, am I just so socially inept that I can't tell that everyone has already learned how to finesse this whole thing over?
Then I wonder if I just have trust issues. My older brother, who is probably my closest friend (even if we rarely talk much about personal things, and it's only usually an hour-or-2-long phone call every month or so), never outted me for years, and essentially allowed me to come out to our parents on my own terms, which I did (although he hasn't come out to them, yet). But he did, upon a relay of text messages about 3 1/2 years ago, tell my parents that I had attempted suicide a year prior to that. Maybe having myself "outted" in this way by a person who I had long considered something of a confidante shook my ability to trust people with personal information.
However, the first thing that still comes to mind as preventing me from talking with others, or more specifically initiating conversations, it that I assume people don't care about what I have to say. Not to mention that, if you start a conversation about yourself with someone else, you're saying that you think at least highly enough of yourself to presuppose that this person you're conversing with ought to care about you. And we've already established that I lack most of even this base level of self-confidence. But you'd think, given all the media through which we now have to engage with other people, I'd have some means with which I felt comfortable talking with others. Then again, maybe you wouldn't; after all, on the other side of that forum/blog/facebook post is a thinking individual who's going to evaluate you and what you say, and choose to either engage or ignore you as he/she pleases. That gets back to the self-esteem thing, which bla bla bla....
Nonetheless, part of a person's self-image is built around feedback from others. By depriving myself, am I simply low on input as to what sort of person I am, and thus have largely been responsible for my own self-image? And if that's the case, you can see how problematic that would be given the self-esteem thing bla bla bla....
Ugh, even on this online journal-type-thing, I assume that no one would ever be interested in reading all this. After all, why would they be? It's only me.
Maybe I just haven't found anyone I really connect with. Even my closest friend is someone whom I don't like to initiate communication with, generally or on more personal issues, for fear that I'll bore her or that she has better things to do and I'll simply inconvenience her, nevermind that she seems to call me whenever the mood strikes her. Of course, that we now live in different cities most of the year means that we've grown a part since we graduated high school, but that's expected. For some reason though, I have yet to make any genuine friends over the past 2 years of attending this university, although I think, think, that things may be slowly changing.
But even still, I hate to initiate personal conversations with people. I generally assume that, because they have no reason to care about me before becoming genuine friends, they have no interest in what I have to say. Not even that I often have personal things to say; I don't do much, all said and done, and I often end up the listener in conversations because of that. Of course for that to happen, people need to be willing to open up and talk to me in the first place, ergo, I have to make myself at least seem interesting enough to reach that level of interpersonal relationship, which I don't like doing for the aforementioned reason of inflicting boredom and taking up others' time. I know that people learn that others care for them by trusting that shared private information will remain private (i.e., they expect to share/exchange information); it's sort of a tit for tat, but I'd far rather offer a tit than...give...a...tat(?).
Does this all sound crazy? And if not, am I just so socially inept that I can't tell that everyone has already learned how to finesse this whole thing over?
Then I wonder if I just have trust issues. My older brother, who is probably my closest friend (even if we rarely talk much about personal things, and it's only usually an hour-or-2-long phone call every month or so), never outted me for years, and essentially allowed me to come out to our parents on my own terms, which I did (although he hasn't come out to them, yet). But he did, upon a relay of text messages about 3 1/2 years ago, tell my parents that I had attempted suicide a year prior to that. Maybe having myself "outted" in this way by a person who I had long considered something of a confidante shook my ability to trust people with personal information.
However, the first thing that still comes to mind as preventing me from talking with others, or more specifically initiating conversations, it that I assume people don't care about what I have to say. Not to mention that, if you start a conversation about yourself with someone else, you're saying that you think at least highly enough of yourself to presuppose that this person you're conversing with ought to care about you. And we've already established that I lack most of even this base level of self-confidence. But you'd think, given all the media through which we now have to engage with other people, I'd have some means with which I felt comfortable talking with others. Then again, maybe you wouldn't; after all, on the other side of that forum/blog/facebook post is a thinking individual who's going to evaluate you and what you say, and choose to either engage or ignore you as he/she pleases. That gets back to the self-esteem thing, which bla bla bla....
Nonetheless, part of a person's self-image is built around feedback from others. By depriving myself, am I simply low on input as to what sort of person I am, and thus have largely been responsible for my own self-image? And if that's the case, you can see how problematic that would be given the self-esteem thing bla bla bla....
Ugh, even on this online journal-type-thing, I assume that no one would ever be interested in reading all this. After all, why would they be? It's only me.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Perfect
What are you supposed to do when perfection seems so near that you can almost see it? When you feel like you could've done it, but it's too late? It's like Plato may have been more right than he could have imagined. Perfection is in fact something which appears so close and yet isn't something that we could possibly have ever really seen, nor can it be something that we ever achieve, but why? Why is this the case?
When we paint a picture, we presume it to be the most perfect version of itself, as it does not exist in any other form. Even if a painting is done again in a precisely identical manner, even for an identical aim, time alone dictates that the same thing can never be done twice. But does time even matter? If I close the door at one instant with a certain number of people observing this act, then do the same thing again mere seconds later, with all the same people, the same door, the same "I" closing it, isn't this for all intents and purposes an identical action? There may be fewer seconds between the second occurrence of this event than the first and a person's inevitable end, but in the scheme of things, does that matter?
After all, we always tell each other not to dwell on the little things and to simply enjoy the fact that we are all alive; maybe even cherish the things we dwell on because our life is good enough to allow us time to dwell. But isn't what is little and what is big a matter of perspective, as is the relative goodness or badness of something? If that's the case, then it shouldn't matter what I or anyone else do because virtually every non-scientific characteristic or definition I ascribe to an act is a definition, at least temporarily, uniquely mine.
If we're going to go so far as to say that good and bad are seen from a place within certain bounds, then why do we further arbitrarily limit what we are allowed to call good and bad? The only thing which can almost universally be said by any rational individual to be bad is that which unquestionably worsens the conditions of human life. But even that is only if you're human, so why must we insist on looking to science, the materialism of logic, to prove what is good for humans, when so far as has been logically and scientifically proven, we may not be strictly material? I tend to believe that if there exist things which are provable in a material fashion, then all things are provable in a material fashion. I know that that statement is inductive (and therefore easily falsifiable), but why is it that, when so much of our universe is ending up holding true to the former, so many people disagree on the latter? It's like they want to have it both ways, which is in my eyes a disgusting self-deception that ought to be done away with permanently.
If we can conceive of or imagine a realm of perfection, of an area in which perfect things lie instead of at a singular point, then why can't it be that this realm exists? Why can't we agree that that which is conceivable is also imaginable and therefore possible? I'm arguing here for a point I don't believe in because it's the only way I can justify a point I do. People cannot be "perfect", but they can be perfect versions of themselves. I suppose it's when we don't feel that we're the best we can be that we feel out worst. Perhaps my persistent imagining of a timestream where I am someone else or a better version of myself is as psychologically-unhelpful as it seems. But again, the only feeling I have left over from that thought is one of frustration. After all, I could've been better in the past. Maybe it's the realization of how that would've affected my present and future that annoys and pains so constantly. After all, "have" can mean both "must" and "did possess (a particular state)". For all I know, it's the double meaning of that first word that's been messing with my head for so long.
But it's not just me. We could all have been better in some way--healthier, prettier, kinder, more intelligent, harder-working, generous, helpful. You name it, chances are you're not perfect in that aspect. But why? Why do people, myself included, so frequently fail to live up to their potential? Why do we allow people such leeway in their character or being when forbidding this freedom would make the world a better place? Of course, many will say that it's because requiring more would impinge on freedom, and therefore happiness. But I don't believe in that "freedom" nonsense. If I must eat, I am not free. If I must drink, I am not free. If I must breath, I am not free. So why do we aspire to maximize, to perfect, our freedom, if one, we think perfection of anything isn't possible, and two, freedom has exceptionally limited intrinsic value? After all, if we say, "we are free", that doesn't say much. Free to do what? Free to pursue the perfection of self that we consider valuable? Certainly, American/Anglo-Saxon/European society has long valued perfection. We try to paint it, write it, think it, be it. But at the same time we tell others and ourselves that that pursuit is meaningless, and harmful to the self. If that were true, why would we value whatever image we have of it so highly? And freedom provides no requirement for the achievement of perfection.
From my perspective, freedom is useless in 3 ways-
1. It superficially tells us that nothing other than itself is so valuable that all must be directed toward it.
2. It wants us to be the perfect version of ourselves so that it can continue without having to absolve itself of the conflicts it must naturally allow to exist.
3. It produces no drive for the perfection that it needs to be sustained, and therefore willingly allows itself to die unless we actively maintain whatever version of it we percieve to be complete.
What is a person to do in a society that purports to give him freedom to do what he wants, but only within certain bounds, and requires a high if not total degree of self-perfection to operate (or at least it operates best when this exists), yet not only doesn't provide a strict definition of perfection, but encourages people to define their own perfection? Freedom and it's correlate capitalism fail for these reasons, and intelligent totalitarianism succeeds for precisely the opposite. It tells us what is valuable, should allow our falling from the perfection of those values, and helps us up with a framework for achieving them.
I'd like to say I'll take being perfect over being free any day of the week. But my own life reflects how conflicted I feel on this topic.
I'm really anxious for them to fully understand all the mechanisms of the human brain.
When we paint a picture, we presume it to be the most perfect version of itself, as it does not exist in any other form. Even if a painting is done again in a precisely identical manner, even for an identical aim, time alone dictates that the same thing can never be done twice. But does time even matter? If I close the door at one instant with a certain number of people observing this act, then do the same thing again mere seconds later, with all the same people, the same door, the same "I" closing it, isn't this for all intents and purposes an identical action? There may be fewer seconds between the second occurrence of this event than the first and a person's inevitable end, but in the scheme of things, does that matter?
After all, we always tell each other not to dwell on the little things and to simply enjoy the fact that we are all alive; maybe even cherish the things we dwell on because our life is good enough to allow us time to dwell. But isn't what is little and what is big a matter of perspective, as is the relative goodness or badness of something? If that's the case, then it shouldn't matter what I or anyone else do because virtually every non-scientific characteristic or definition I ascribe to an act is a definition, at least temporarily, uniquely mine.
If we're going to go so far as to say that good and bad are seen from a place within certain bounds, then why do we further arbitrarily limit what we are allowed to call good and bad? The only thing which can almost universally be said by any rational individual to be bad is that which unquestionably worsens the conditions of human life. But even that is only if you're human, so why must we insist on looking to science, the materialism of logic, to prove what is good for humans, when so far as has been logically and scientifically proven, we may not be strictly material? I tend to believe that if there exist things which are provable in a material fashion, then all things are provable in a material fashion. I know that that statement is inductive (and therefore easily falsifiable), but why is it that, when so much of our universe is ending up holding true to the former, so many people disagree on the latter? It's like they want to have it both ways, which is in my eyes a disgusting self-deception that ought to be done away with permanently.
If we can conceive of or imagine a realm of perfection, of an area in which perfect things lie instead of at a singular point, then why can't it be that this realm exists? Why can't we agree that that which is conceivable is also imaginable and therefore possible? I'm arguing here for a point I don't believe in because it's the only way I can justify a point I do. People cannot be "perfect", but they can be perfect versions of themselves. I suppose it's when we don't feel that we're the best we can be that we feel out worst. Perhaps my persistent imagining of a timestream where I am someone else or a better version of myself is as psychologically-unhelpful as it seems. But again, the only feeling I have left over from that thought is one of frustration. After all, I could've been better in the past. Maybe it's the realization of how that would've affected my present and future that annoys and pains so constantly. After all, "have" can mean both "must" and "did possess (a particular state)". For all I know, it's the double meaning of that first word that's been messing with my head for so long.
But it's not just me. We could all have been better in some way--healthier, prettier, kinder, more intelligent, harder-working, generous, helpful. You name it, chances are you're not perfect in that aspect. But why? Why do people, myself included, so frequently fail to live up to their potential? Why do we allow people such leeway in their character or being when forbidding this freedom would make the world a better place? Of course, many will say that it's because requiring more would impinge on freedom, and therefore happiness. But I don't believe in that "freedom" nonsense. If I must eat, I am not free. If I must drink, I am not free. If I must breath, I am not free. So why do we aspire to maximize, to perfect, our freedom, if one, we think perfection of anything isn't possible, and two, freedom has exceptionally limited intrinsic value? After all, if we say, "we are free", that doesn't say much. Free to do what? Free to pursue the perfection of self that we consider valuable? Certainly, American/Anglo-Saxon/European society has long valued perfection. We try to paint it, write it, think it, be it. But at the same time we tell others and ourselves that that pursuit is meaningless, and harmful to the self. If that were true, why would we value whatever image we have of it so highly? And freedom provides no requirement for the achievement of perfection.
From my perspective, freedom is useless in 3 ways-
1. It superficially tells us that nothing other than itself is so valuable that all must be directed toward it.
2. It wants us to be the perfect version of ourselves so that it can continue without having to absolve itself of the conflicts it must naturally allow to exist.
3. It produces no drive for the perfection that it needs to be sustained, and therefore willingly allows itself to die unless we actively maintain whatever version of it we percieve to be complete.
What is a person to do in a society that purports to give him freedom to do what he wants, but only within certain bounds, and requires a high if not total degree of self-perfection to operate (or at least it operates best when this exists), yet not only doesn't provide a strict definition of perfection, but encourages people to define their own perfection? Freedom and it's correlate capitalism fail for these reasons, and intelligent totalitarianism succeeds for precisely the opposite. It tells us what is valuable, should allow our falling from the perfection of those values, and helps us up with a framework for achieving them.
I'd like to say I'll take being perfect over being free any day of the week. But my own life reflects how conflicted I feel on this topic.
I'm really anxious for them to fully understand all the mechanisms of the human brain.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall....
I could have easily entitled this post "Frustration" as well, but that would seem to be redundant; frustration is simply a constant recurrence for me, I suppose.
So, this semester, I'm taking an Aesthetics seminar course here at the university. I've found it incredibly interesting so far, and aside from so far confirming what I've long thought about human aesthetics (specifically that there is essentially a way to quantify beauty by registering the number of characteristics a person possesses which signal reproductive fitness), I've noticed something else. As we sit in the classroom discussing which features have traditionally served as biological cues of reproductive fitness, and arguments for and against using those characteristics to define beauty, I'm constantly thinking, "Hm...does that describe my appearance"? I've also begun to look in my dorm room mirror even more than I previously did, which is saying something.
Am I really that shallow?
Granted, I can partially ease my concern about this by saying that paying attention to appearance is a perfectly natural thing to do, as, like most humans, I have a strong biological drive (not necessarily pleasure-centric) to fornicate with others, and thus to ensure that they want to do so with me as well. But as a person who spends a bulk of his time thinking in circles and squares, I can also quite easily shoot that thin excuse down.
After all, from a logical perspective, being gay, I won't be passing on genes when I have sex with another man, and there are several genetic qualities I feel it's almost a duty for me not to pass on (primarily the acne from which I suffered as a teenager, and the depressive view that has only partly stemmed from the effects that had on my adolescence).
Additionally, I thought I knew that looks, while important on a basic level, aren't crucial to success, even if being attractive does help. But the amount of time I spent concerned about how I look and how others look at me borders on pathological (see previous post), and my narcissism certainly hasn't helped me feel any better. Who doesn't tend to focus on their lesser qualities more than their positive attributes, in hopes of reducing them? But as I began typing this post, I came upon a more surprising, disturbing, and disappointing thought. I think that my concerns over appearance have led to me valuing that which I've long considered a weakness, albeit one we're all predisposed to: short-term and superficial gain, instead of the more meaningful long-term and structural reward that comes with focusing on deeper human qualities instead of simply how you look.
I mean, I can't even count the number of times when I've stopped reading a book or an article out of "boredom" and begun to watch something online, even though I'm totally aware that the reward for these things only comes with the completion of them. How many times have I wanted to start a sociology or philosophy text from the library, read about things I genuinely care about, seen the number or pages, and put it down? I'm ashamed to say that I can't even count the number of times I didn't read something just because there was something else to do that required less active participation. And it'd be best that my employer not figure out just how many times I've not gone to work basically because I didn't feel like it.
I wrote before about my "death drive", or desire to be surrounded by or participate in things or activities that are strictly speaking inactive. I've always been puzzled by people who say they prefer the deathly silence of a countryside to the liveliness and vitality of a metropolis, and yet long have I avoided activies that bear similar qualities. I've always justified doing so by saying either I won't have fun, the people I'm with won't have fun because I'm there (a healthy thought, I know), or the thing itself won't be fun. It's a sort of internal social awkwardness which I'm exceptionally good at hiding, but affects me all the same. I don't know where it came from, but I can't remember a time when it wasn't there.
As I've mentioned before, I have chronic self-esteem issues, and I think I'm finally beginning to understand just what that's meant for me. But what can I do? I can't make myself feel better, because if I do, it won't be because I'm better than I was the day before (even if I actually am in some way), it'll just be because I want to make myself feel better. I don't trust friends to tell the truth about me, even if I'm ever bold enough to risk their discomfort in asking them what they think of me, because as soon as they consider me a friend, there's a social advantage to keeping me (or anyone else the consider a friend) friendly. And I certainly don't trust family members, who have a biological and psychological drive (they want to make themselves feel that their genes are more likely to be passed on, and making someone else in their gene pool feel that way has the same effect), to tell me what they honestly think about me.
But where did the low self-esteem come from in the first place? I was made fun of as a kid (red hair, freckles, being taller than average, etc.), but the reasons for which I was made fun of no longer bother me, with the partial exception of my height. My parents, though not always the most attentive with 3 other kids to manage, never did anything that I can remember that seriously bruised my ego (repression?). My older brother, the only one close enough in age to influence me, would pick on me, but only ever in the way most siblings pick on one another. So why do I have such self-doubt? I like to think that I'm merely taking a more realistic approach to evaluating who I am than most people do about themselves, but is it realistic or unjustifiably negative? Is it depressive realism or just depression?
Of course, a number of times when I've felt my lowest, I've imagined myself with a guy who values me and enjoys my company in every way, and having that release me from so many of my concerns, but of course for that to happen would require that I figure out, at least to some extent, what's wrong with me in the first place so I can explain my head to my patient other. I'd say it's a chicken-or-egg problem, but really, it's the egg.
Anyone have an incubator? Or a chicken?
So, this semester, I'm taking an Aesthetics seminar course here at the university. I've found it incredibly interesting so far, and aside from so far confirming what I've long thought about human aesthetics (specifically that there is essentially a way to quantify beauty by registering the number of characteristics a person possesses which signal reproductive fitness), I've noticed something else. As we sit in the classroom discussing which features have traditionally served as biological cues of reproductive fitness, and arguments for and against using those characteristics to define beauty, I'm constantly thinking, "Hm...does that describe my appearance"? I've also begun to look in my dorm room mirror even more than I previously did, which is saying something.
Am I really that shallow?
Granted, I can partially ease my concern about this by saying that paying attention to appearance is a perfectly natural thing to do, as, like most humans, I have a strong biological drive (not necessarily pleasure-centric) to fornicate with others, and thus to ensure that they want to do so with me as well. But as a person who spends a bulk of his time thinking in circles and squares, I can also quite easily shoot that thin excuse down.
After all, from a logical perspective, being gay, I won't be passing on genes when I have sex with another man, and there are several genetic qualities I feel it's almost a duty for me not to pass on (primarily the acne from which I suffered as a teenager, and the depressive view that has only partly stemmed from the effects that had on my adolescence).
Additionally, I thought I knew that looks, while important on a basic level, aren't crucial to success, even if being attractive does help. But the amount of time I spent concerned about how I look and how others look at me borders on pathological (see previous post), and my narcissism certainly hasn't helped me feel any better. Who doesn't tend to focus on their lesser qualities more than their positive attributes, in hopes of reducing them? But as I began typing this post, I came upon a more surprising, disturbing, and disappointing thought. I think that my concerns over appearance have led to me valuing that which I've long considered a weakness, albeit one we're all predisposed to: short-term and superficial gain, instead of the more meaningful long-term and structural reward that comes with focusing on deeper human qualities instead of simply how you look.
I mean, I can't even count the number of times when I've stopped reading a book or an article out of "boredom" and begun to watch something online, even though I'm totally aware that the reward for these things only comes with the completion of them. How many times have I wanted to start a sociology or philosophy text from the library, read about things I genuinely care about, seen the number or pages, and put it down? I'm ashamed to say that I can't even count the number of times I didn't read something just because there was something else to do that required less active participation. And it'd be best that my employer not figure out just how many times I've not gone to work basically because I didn't feel like it.
I wrote before about my "death drive", or desire to be surrounded by or participate in things or activities that are strictly speaking inactive. I've always been puzzled by people who say they prefer the deathly silence of a countryside to the liveliness and vitality of a metropolis, and yet long have I avoided activies that bear similar qualities. I've always justified doing so by saying either I won't have fun, the people I'm with won't have fun because I'm there (a healthy thought, I know), or the thing itself won't be fun. It's a sort of internal social awkwardness which I'm exceptionally good at hiding, but affects me all the same. I don't know where it came from, but I can't remember a time when it wasn't there.
As I've mentioned before, I have chronic self-esteem issues, and I think I'm finally beginning to understand just what that's meant for me. But what can I do? I can't make myself feel better, because if I do, it won't be because I'm better than I was the day before (even if I actually am in some way), it'll just be because I want to make myself feel better. I don't trust friends to tell the truth about me, even if I'm ever bold enough to risk their discomfort in asking them what they think of me, because as soon as they consider me a friend, there's a social advantage to keeping me (or anyone else the consider a friend) friendly. And I certainly don't trust family members, who have a biological and psychological drive (they want to make themselves feel that their genes are more likely to be passed on, and making someone else in their gene pool feel that way has the same effect), to tell me what they honestly think about me.
But where did the low self-esteem come from in the first place? I was made fun of as a kid (red hair, freckles, being taller than average, etc.), but the reasons for which I was made fun of no longer bother me, with the partial exception of my height. My parents, though not always the most attentive with 3 other kids to manage, never did anything that I can remember that seriously bruised my ego (repression?). My older brother, the only one close enough in age to influence me, would pick on me, but only ever in the way most siblings pick on one another. So why do I have such self-doubt? I like to think that I'm merely taking a more realistic approach to evaluating who I am than most people do about themselves, but is it realistic or unjustifiably negative? Is it depressive realism or just depression?
Of course, a number of times when I've felt my lowest, I've imagined myself with a guy who values me and enjoys my company in every way, and having that release me from so many of my concerns, but of course for that to happen would require that I figure out, at least to some extent, what's wrong with me in the first place so I can explain my head to my patient other. I'd say it's a chicken-or-egg problem, but really, it's the egg.
Anyone have an incubator? Or a chicken?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Confusion
In what's turning into a series of somewhat related posts, I'm going to figure out why it is that I'm so lonely, and how I got here. I'm going to try and be as frank and objective as possible, but obviously as I'm talking about myself (yet again) I won't be able to view things from a completely unbiased perspective.
When I was younger, even as recently as high school (I'm 21 right now), I had a good number of friends. Divided into percentages in a hierarchy of closeness, I'd say they were about 5% best friends, 15% good friends, 35% friends, and 45% acquaintances. Most of them were in the music department at my high school; as the lead cellist in the orchestra, I was a bit of a music nerd, but also smart enough to make it into the honors courses of the school, so I was among the "elites", even if I never totally fit in with them. I thought of myself as a social person, and often went out with friends to the movies/mall/etc. I'd always been the social one of the elder pair of my parents' kids (my older brother is 24, and the younger two are 12 and 10), and my parents would always tell me how easily I'd made friends from a young age.
As convenient as it'd be to draw the line between my social period and my much more withdrawn current self at my suicide attempt in the middle of October 2006 (or my family's discovery of it about a year later), I'm not totally sure that's accurate. I think that a large portion of my character is formed and informed by low self-esteem, and that's something I think I may have always had. At the very least, I've been a bit of a sensitive person throughout my life, good though I am at hiding that now; therefore all the bullying and criticism that I'd received from various people at different times (I don't think it was too much more or less than what everyone goes through) was internalized and validated in my mind. And as I mentioned in my previous post, although I think I might be over my perfectionist tendencies, the fact that I fell so short of my own expectations most of the time didn't help. I don't know whom I imbibed the perfectionist ideals from (it certainly wasn't my parents; if anything, the fact that our parents never seemed to expect much of us was an impetus for me to set my own standards), but they most certainly continue to play a role in how I move through the world, much as I actively try to purge them from my mind knowing the damage that they do.
At the same time, I'm not sure that perfection is as unreachable as it's often said to be. While achieving a perfect mind, perfect body, and perfect personality simultaneously may be impossible, it doesn't mean that achieving some definition of one of those three terms is unlikely. If we widen the definition of them to be simply an accomplished mind, attractive body, and open and friendly personality, I'd say at least a few people had achieved it. As they say, no one's perfect, but I think it's accurate to say that some come closer than others. It's my belief in that last point (which I don't think is really arguable) that has long made me feel so uncomfortable interacting with others.
After all, what should I think people are expecting when they interact with me? The instinctive thing to do initially is look at some one's appearance and work inwards. I'm 6' 5" (190cm), which experience has taught always makes an impression, and ~190lbs (86kg). I know that I'm not fat by most standards, but my body lacks any real muscle tone, so the appearance is more of a skeleton after holiday than anything else, although my bone structure is large enough to make it clear that I have a fair bit of underlying muscle waiting to be developed.
My face has many English characteristics, such as a not-terribly-well-defined chin, lack of cheek bones, and strong jaw, but my eye color (blue), shape, and placement, in addition to my jaw shape, nose, hair (red), and general facial proportions are alright...I think. I'm pretty sure I always notice people looking at my face (specifically) when I walk by (and I don't think I'm imagining it because I'll tend to be looking elsewhere, then look at someone looking at me when I change focus; it is typically women), and it may be because I'm actually fairly attractive, but I'm secretly somewhat terrified that it might be because I'm really unattractive. The only inarguable aesthetic detriment is that I do have quite a lot of acne scarring in my face, although I tend only to notice it in non-natural light. I never had any girls like me in high school (that I know of), but that was mostly because I came out my freshman year, so I think they knew better. I have had a few guys tell me they think I'm attractive, and considering the number as a percentage of guys who are out or gay in my area in the first place, it's a good number. I'd post a picture, but despite living in the age of Facebook, no good ones really exist. Besides, considering my British Isles and Germanic heritage, my inability to hold any sort of tan makes me always less than photogenic.
So assuming that my appearance is at bare minimum inoffensive, personality tends to come second in assessing people as it's more immediately evident than intelligence or wisdom. I've always tried to be a considerate and kind person, and rarely is a door not held open nor a friendly smile not exchanged (the fact that so few people in this part of the country smile at one another is a source of annoyance for me). I tend to fall into the listener position in any conversation as I'm good at getting people to talk about themselves and dislike talking about myself (in person, hence this blog). Having such an entertainingly bitchy best friend has certainly affected me, and I tend to make judgments on first glance to myself due to her influence that I recant to myself later. I may not be a social butterfly anymore, but years and years of practice have yet to let me become rusty at making sure people are comfortable around me.
Finally, there's the issue of intelligence. This is the one I have the most trouble with. As I mentioned earlier, I was in almost all honors classes by the end of high school, and I didn't get there through hard work. The university I'm attending, the University of New Hampshire, isn't exactly a public Ivy, but it's good enough to be ranked 110th out of all the universities in the country, if that says anything; it's not great by any means, but it's not awful either. Additionally, as I have long done, any classes which rely on discussion or paper-writing, things which require quick critical thinking, I tend to do well, and I think people tend to perceive me as one of the "smarter" people in my classes. The fact that I'm capable of doing substantial research papers ~10 pages long in a matter of hours that receive grades in the high B's-low A's is something I feel further substantiates my perception of myself as intelligent. Additionally, I rarely lose an argument, and as a person with a naturally quiet voice, I can assure you that they don't turn into shouting matches. But nonetheless, I always wonder. The only person who I'm almost 100% sure is smarter than I am, whose judgement I trust on this sort of thing nearly unconditionally, is my older brother, and even he has subconscious biological and psychological reasons for thinking that I'm much smarter than the average person.
I'm always nervous--are there things that I don't perceive in daily conversations that are so far beyond my perception I don't even realize I'm missing them? My quantitative reasoning skills feel as though they stopped progressing past middle school, and I wonder if that's led to a sympathetic decrease in my qualitative reasoning skills, too.... I know that most people have these sorts of questions about themselves, but I'm not the sort of person who's good enough at comforting himself to the point where these concerns vanish. After all, if I look at myself from as objective a perspective as I can manage, what have I got to show as a person? I'm attending a fairly average (and seriously overpriced) school, the sort that requires you make something out of your education instead of simply providing you with the sort of pedigree people don't question. I've never had a boyfriend, or even kissed a guy for goodness sake, and I spend most of my days at this point in my dorm room thinking, wasting time, or writing down things like this. I'm not saying that I need to be great, as clearly that's not a terribly achievable goal, vague as it is.
But if I'm even just average, why am I not as happy and socialized and comfortable as everyone else seems to be?
When I was younger, even as recently as high school (I'm 21 right now), I had a good number of friends. Divided into percentages in a hierarchy of closeness, I'd say they were about 5% best friends, 15% good friends, 35% friends, and 45% acquaintances. Most of them were in the music department at my high school; as the lead cellist in the orchestra, I was a bit of a music nerd, but also smart enough to make it into the honors courses of the school, so I was among the "elites", even if I never totally fit in with them. I thought of myself as a social person, and often went out with friends to the movies/mall/etc. I'd always been the social one of the elder pair of my parents' kids (my older brother is 24, and the younger two are 12 and 10), and my parents would always tell me how easily I'd made friends from a young age.
As convenient as it'd be to draw the line between my social period and my much more withdrawn current self at my suicide attempt in the middle of October 2006 (or my family's discovery of it about a year later), I'm not totally sure that's accurate. I think that a large portion of my character is formed and informed by low self-esteem, and that's something I think I may have always had. At the very least, I've been a bit of a sensitive person throughout my life, good though I am at hiding that now; therefore all the bullying and criticism that I'd received from various people at different times (I don't think it was too much more or less than what everyone goes through) was internalized and validated in my mind. And as I mentioned in my previous post, although I think I might be over my perfectionist tendencies, the fact that I fell so short of my own expectations most of the time didn't help. I don't know whom I imbibed the perfectionist ideals from (it certainly wasn't my parents; if anything, the fact that our parents never seemed to expect much of us was an impetus for me to set my own standards), but they most certainly continue to play a role in how I move through the world, much as I actively try to purge them from my mind knowing the damage that they do.
At the same time, I'm not sure that perfection is as unreachable as it's often said to be. While achieving a perfect mind, perfect body, and perfect personality simultaneously may be impossible, it doesn't mean that achieving some definition of one of those three terms is unlikely. If we widen the definition of them to be simply an accomplished mind, attractive body, and open and friendly personality, I'd say at least a few people had achieved it. As they say, no one's perfect, but I think it's accurate to say that some come closer than others. It's my belief in that last point (which I don't think is really arguable) that has long made me feel so uncomfortable interacting with others.
After all, what should I think people are expecting when they interact with me? The instinctive thing to do initially is look at some one's appearance and work inwards. I'm 6' 5" (190cm), which experience has taught always makes an impression, and ~190lbs (86kg). I know that I'm not fat by most standards, but my body lacks any real muscle tone, so the appearance is more of a skeleton after holiday than anything else, although my bone structure is large enough to make it clear that I have a fair bit of underlying muscle waiting to be developed.
My face has many English characteristics, such as a not-terribly-well-defined chin, lack of cheek bones, and strong jaw, but my eye color (blue), shape, and placement, in addition to my jaw shape, nose, hair (red), and general facial proportions are alright...I think. I'm pretty sure I always notice people looking at my face (specifically) when I walk by (and I don't think I'm imagining it because I'll tend to be looking elsewhere, then look at someone looking at me when I change focus; it is typically women), and it may be because I'm actually fairly attractive, but I'm secretly somewhat terrified that it might be because I'm really unattractive. The only inarguable aesthetic detriment is that I do have quite a lot of acne scarring in my face, although I tend only to notice it in non-natural light. I never had any girls like me in high school (that I know of), but that was mostly because I came out my freshman year, so I think they knew better. I have had a few guys tell me they think I'm attractive, and considering the number as a percentage of guys who are out or gay in my area in the first place, it's a good number. I'd post a picture, but despite living in the age of Facebook, no good ones really exist. Besides, considering my British Isles and Germanic heritage, my inability to hold any sort of tan makes me always less than photogenic.
So assuming that my appearance is at bare minimum inoffensive, personality tends to come second in assessing people as it's more immediately evident than intelligence or wisdom. I've always tried to be a considerate and kind person, and rarely is a door not held open nor a friendly smile not exchanged (the fact that so few people in this part of the country smile at one another is a source of annoyance for me). I tend to fall into the listener position in any conversation as I'm good at getting people to talk about themselves and dislike talking about myself (in person, hence this blog). Having such an entertainingly bitchy best friend has certainly affected me, and I tend to make judgments on first glance to myself due to her influence that I recant to myself later. I may not be a social butterfly anymore, but years and years of practice have yet to let me become rusty at making sure people are comfortable around me.
Finally, there's the issue of intelligence. This is the one I have the most trouble with. As I mentioned earlier, I was in almost all honors classes by the end of high school, and I didn't get there through hard work. The university I'm attending, the University of New Hampshire, isn't exactly a public Ivy, but it's good enough to be ranked 110th out of all the universities in the country, if that says anything; it's not great by any means, but it's not awful either. Additionally, as I have long done, any classes which rely on discussion or paper-writing, things which require quick critical thinking, I tend to do well, and I think people tend to perceive me as one of the "smarter" people in my classes. The fact that I'm capable of doing substantial research papers ~10 pages long in a matter of hours that receive grades in the high B's-low A's is something I feel further substantiates my perception of myself as intelligent. Additionally, I rarely lose an argument, and as a person with a naturally quiet voice, I can assure you that they don't turn into shouting matches. But nonetheless, I always wonder. The only person who I'm almost 100% sure is smarter than I am, whose judgement I trust on this sort of thing nearly unconditionally, is my older brother, and even he has subconscious biological and psychological reasons for thinking that I'm much smarter than the average person.
I'm always nervous--are there things that I don't perceive in daily conversations that are so far beyond my perception I don't even realize I'm missing them? My quantitative reasoning skills feel as though they stopped progressing past middle school, and I wonder if that's led to a sympathetic decrease in my qualitative reasoning skills, too.... I know that most people have these sorts of questions about themselves, but I'm not the sort of person who's good enough at comforting himself to the point where these concerns vanish. After all, if I look at myself from as objective a perspective as I can manage, what have I got to show as a person? I'm attending a fairly average (and seriously overpriced) school, the sort that requires you make something out of your education instead of simply providing you with the sort of pedigree people don't question. I've never had a boyfriend, or even kissed a guy for goodness sake, and I spend most of my days at this point in my dorm room thinking, wasting time, or writing down things like this. I'm not saying that I need to be great, as clearly that's not a terribly achievable goal, vague as it is.
But if I'm even just average, why am I not as happy and socialized and comfortable as everyone else seems to be?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Frustration
As an addendum to my previous post, despite my somewhat brooding, melancholy nature, one thing I know about myself that is very much so like presumably everyone else on the planet is that the one thing I ultimately want is to be happy. Not necessarily pleasured (although I'd have no arguments against that), but genuinely pleased with the state of things. The trouble is, this creates a bit of a conundrum, just as much for myself as I'm sure it does everyone else.
After all, is is really possible to be happy, or even content, when there are so many things that you could do for the world to make it a better place, even if those things may not necessarily make you happier? For example, one thing I'm quite sure I'll need to do to be happier is move to another country. There are simply too many structural issues with this country for it to begin to operate at a level or in a way that is satisfactory for me personally. But then I think I'm just being hypocritical, a quitter, or a "traitor" as it were, or some combination of those things. After all, by birth I am an American, and I can't say that this place is that much of a hole, and it's true that had I really wanted to, I could have left by now. But that just pulls on the guilty threads of my conscience.
Which brings me to the heart of the issue. What is the proper apportioning of time spent between absolving a guilty conscience through humanitarian or scholarly work and actually doing things that will make me happy? I'd like to think that someone would say to me, "what have you to feel guilty about"? After all, I didn't choose to be born into a society which, by virtue of its construction, would predispose me to consume more resources than I ultimately need, or one that would ultimately act in its own self-interest regardless of what effect it might have on the rest of the world. But nonetheless, even if I am not obligated to fix the wrongs prevalent in various aspects of American society (ones which doubtlessly have their correlates in other societies), shouldn't I do something to increase the general well-being of human kind?
Of course, as a utilitarian, I can easily defend myself by saying that simply increasing my own happiness without disproportionately decreasing the happiness of others is all I need to to increase the total utility of humanity, i.e. "be good". But how good a grasp can any one person have on the ways in which he/she effects the lives of all 7 billion of us? So the alternative to reducing the amount of negative utility an action produces is to simply produce an abundance of positive utility. And the natural, possibly most obvious, means with which to do this is to create more positive utility for oneself. But even that ultimately just returns to the question of whether or not positive utility for someone else has a consequentially-appropriate effect on your own utility. So the best way to go about that, then, is to find whichever course of action creates a large positive utility value for yourself and for others. Unless a person is a serial rapist, we usually tell them to follow their passions and begin a career in some field closely related to them, because according to a utilitarian philosophy operating within a capitalistic society, work done is good for everyone involved, and work about which you're passionate is even better by virtue of the fact that you're doing something you love, ergo producing even more utility.
So maybe this has just ended up as sort of a repeat of my earlier post, Oh, Nothing.... I don't know why I have so much trouble figuring what it is I'm passionate about. Truth be told, I think I'm concerned that what I'm passionate about may have no meaning to anyone who isn't predisposed to similar passions. I guess the worry is that I may not mean as much to the world as some others do. But I thought I had long accepted that as simply the way life is for most people. Hell, even those who ended up being important in one way or another managed it at least in part by chance. Among other qualities, Martin Luther King Jr. just so happened to have a natural talent for rhetoric, and Adolf Hitler was simply charismatic; there most certainly have been other egalitarians and Nazis throughout history. "The mark of an immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one." Hm. I guess I just haven't found my cause. Or maybe I'm just not as mature as I thought.
After all, is is really possible to be happy, or even content, when there are so many things that you could do for the world to make it a better place, even if those things may not necessarily make you happier? For example, one thing I'm quite sure I'll need to do to be happier is move to another country. There are simply too many structural issues with this country for it to begin to operate at a level or in a way that is satisfactory for me personally. But then I think I'm just being hypocritical, a quitter, or a "traitor" as it were, or some combination of those things. After all, by birth I am an American, and I can't say that this place is that much of a hole, and it's true that had I really wanted to, I could have left by now. But that just pulls on the guilty threads of my conscience.
Which brings me to the heart of the issue. What is the proper apportioning of time spent between absolving a guilty conscience through humanitarian or scholarly work and actually doing things that will make me happy? I'd like to think that someone would say to me, "what have you to feel guilty about"? After all, I didn't choose to be born into a society which, by virtue of its construction, would predispose me to consume more resources than I ultimately need, or one that would ultimately act in its own self-interest regardless of what effect it might have on the rest of the world. But nonetheless, even if I am not obligated to fix the wrongs prevalent in various aspects of American society (ones which doubtlessly have their correlates in other societies), shouldn't I do something to increase the general well-being of human kind?
Of course, as a utilitarian, I can easily defend myself by saying that simply increasing my own happiness without disproportionately decreasing the happiness of others is all I need to to increase the total utility of humanity, i.e. "be good". But how good a grasp can any one person have on the ways in which he/she effects the lives of all 7 billion of us? So the alternative to reducing the amount of negative utility an action produces is to simply produce an abundance of positive utility. And the natural, possibly most obvious, means with which to do this is to create more positive utility for oneself. But even that ultimately just returns to the question of whether or not positive utility for someone else has a consequentially-appropriate effect on your own utility. So the best way to go about that, then, is to find whichever course of action creates a large positive utility value for yourself and for others. Unless a person is a serial rapist, we usually tell them to follow their passions and begin a career in some field closely related to them, because according to a utilitarian philosophy operating within a capitalistic society, work done is good for everyone involved, and work about which you're passionate is even better by virtue of the fact that you're doing something you love, ergo producing even more utility.
So maybe this has just ended up as sort of a repeat of my earlier post, Oh, Nothing.... I don't know why I have so much trouble figuring what it is I'm passionate about. Truth be told, I think I'm concerned that what I'm passionate about may have no meaning to anyone who isn't predisposed to similar passions. I guess the worry is that I may not mean as much to the world as some others do. But I thought I had long accepted that as simply the way life is for most people. Hell, even those who ended up being important in one way or another managed it at least in part by chance. Among other qualities, Martin Luther King Jr. just so happened to have a natural talent for rhetoric, and Adolf Hitler was simply charismatic; there most certainly have been other egalitarians and Nazis throughout history. "The mark of an immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one." Hm. I guess I just haven't found my cause. Or maybe I'm just not as mature as I thought.
Friday, January 28, 2011
How we forget the past...
After a long absence, partially caused by a change in various circumstances (that weren't actually very extenuating) and partially because I...um...forgot my password for ages, I'm here to write whilst my head is swimming in circles and my body languishes in a chair beside which ever type of body of water any potential reader feels suits this metaphor best.
I've never suspected myself of being different from other people. I mean really, what evidence would I have to support that claim anyway? Aside from excessive height and a somewhat brooding nature, I can't think of anything I could objectively identify as setting me apart from other people in any meaningful way. But then, maybe there is something to my "broodiness" that, while not necessarily changing me as a person, changes the way I look at things and move about in the world.
For example, one slightly unusual conclusion about myself that I think I've finally arrived at is that I want death. Not that I want to die, and I've no plans to kill myself in the future (already tried that and failed once), I just like things that happen to remind me of death in some way or another--I find the aesthetics of death appealing. Whether it be colors (blue, black, any shade of gray), music (some electro, some techno, some classical; the former two I have downloads of in a folder somewhat thoughtfully entitled "cold"), environments (gray, rainy days; deserts, the open ocean), or even just sounds, the things which tend to stick with me and shape my desires are what I can only explain as open, empty, lifelessness (or even just sad, languid scenes), melancholy, plain existences. Combine those things with having been raised in a culture that says anything which is not active may as well be dead, and I can think of no other way of describing my ideal scenery as most akin to a barren desert plain, empty rocky mountain range, or a gray, empty beach, with some hollow, sad, possibly even ominous noises playing in my head.
Do I just have a melancholy personality, is it clinical depression, or is it a symptom of something else? Whenever I think about this topic too much it makes me wonder about that whole idea of depressive realism, where people with depression are said to simply have a more accurate view of themselves and the world as a whole. And then I look around me--I know I have it good, and I make it a policy to never seriously complain about anything in the presence of other people. Besides, those other people generally seem happy, so either there's a massive conspiracy occurring in the developed world in which we all pretend to be happy around one another, or my personality leads me to be downcast most of the time. Admitting the latter would, in order to make myself happy, require that I change essentially everything about myself....So really the question is, why are you all so happy all the time?
(Oh, and the post title is because I've been through this whole discussion with myself before, resolved it one way or another, and come back to it. So here I am, and the cycle repeats again...)
I've never suspected myself of being different from other people. I mean really, what evidence would I have to support that claim anyway? Aside from excessive height and a somewhat brooding nature, I can't think of anything I could objectively identify as setting me apart from other people in any meaningful way. But then, maybe there is something to my "broodiness" that, while not necessarily changing me as a person, changes the way I look at things and move about in the world.
For example, one slightly unusual conclusion about myself that I think I've finally arrived at is that I want death. Not that I want to die, and I've no plans to kill myself in the future (already tried that and failed once), I just like things that happen to remind me of death in some way or another--I find the aesthetics of death appealing. Whether it be colors (blue, black, any shade of gray), music (some electro, some techno, some classical; the former two I have downloads of in a folder somewhat thoughtfully entitled "cold"), environments (gray, rainy days; deserts, the open ocean), or even just sounds, the things which tend to stick with me and shape my desires are what I can only explain as open, empty, lifelessness (or even just sad, languid scenes), melancholy, plain existences. Combine those things with having been raised in a culture that says anything which is not active may as well be dead, and I can think of no other way of describing my ideal scenery as most akin to a barren desert plain, empty rocky mountain range, or a gray, empty beach, with some hollow, sad, possibly even ominous noises playing in my head.
Do I just have a melancholy personality, is it clinical depression, or is it a symptom of something else? Whenever I think about this topic too much it makes me wonder about that whole idea of depressive realism, where people with depression are said to simply have a more accurate view of themselves and the world as a whole. And then I look around me--I know I have it good, and I make it a policy to never seriously complain about anything in the presence of other people. Besides, those other people generally seem happy, so either there's a massive conspiracy occurring in the developed world in which we all pretend to be happy around one another, or my personality leads me to be downcast most of the time. Admitting the latter would, in order to make myself happy, require that I change essentially everything about myself....So really the question is, why are you all so happy all the time?
(Oh, and the post title is because I've been through this whole discussion with myself before, resolved it one way or another, and come back to it. So here I am, and the cycle repeats again...)
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