(no subject)

[cassaclyzm]

It’s hard to say when I noticed there was anything different about me, or if there was even one moment of it at all. It’s hard to tell, when you’re trying so hard to be unlike everybody else. Now that I think of it, I’m not sure why I held so much contempt for the “norm” – maybe it was because they had rejected me so utterly when it first started to make a difference. Reject me, and I reject you right back. Of course, it’s not like it “punished” them at all, not that I realized that at the time. All that did was leave me alone.

Yeah, usually people aren’t looking at the whole picture when they say that they were “totally, completely alone”, or whatever. I’m not a gothlette, thanks, and while I understand that our existence and ability to prosper is based on conflict and unhappiness and all, I’m not about to start walking around mourning it. If that’s what we were supposed to be doing, ulcers would be a mark of honour. Though I suppose, in a way, they already are.

Naw, I can’t really say I was alone. I felt it, though. I had some friends – two, say, that I can really think back to having relied on – and it’s not like my home life was horrible. It was pretty idyllic, really. Mom stayed at home in the day, Dad worked at a labour job. Mom played in a band on the weekend evenings, and often had practices and stuff during the weekend days. I had a little brother, who was an annoying little brat. All we were missing was the white picket fence and the other .5 of a kid.

It’s strange, looking back on my life and realizing that it was, literally, almost too perfect and normal to be true. All around me are people with weird upbringings, odd parental status, etc. Reasons to angst. Reasons to complain. And, somehow, it leaves me feeling empty. Like I shouldn’t have anything wrong with me, or that I don’t have the right to complain about the little blemishes that might come up in my life.

I don’t have a trophy of pain to bear. And though it’s taken me a while, I’ve finally started to figure out how to deal with that.

How to deal with not having problems. What a concept, huh? It goes back to the “existence is pain and conflict” thing. It’s true, really. What’s a story without a problem to overcome? Who makes advancements without problems or obstacles? I’ve heard that Buddhists have a belief system that follows those kinds of lines. Maybe that means I’m enlightened or something. That would be pretty cool. "Eat THAT bitches! I didn’t go through your mamby pamby ‘trials of pain’, and I’m cholin’ up in here with the Buddha!"

Okay, I guess I’m not over the whole “bitterness” thing. Bad human. No enlightenment.

You might think that someone who doesn’t have problems would notice pretty easily if something was out of place. That might be true, if I really didn’t have a single thing wrong. Sure, I never had any huge, majorly life-shattering events happen in my childhood, but it’s not like I don’t have anything ever go wrong in my life. I’m just really, extremely, annoyingly optimistic and easy going, that’s all. Maybe it’s the hormones. Or lack thereof.

It’s almost embarrassing to say, but the first time I really noticed that there was a significant difference between the “sexes” was when I was 17 years old. Not that I didn’t know it already on some level, and in a practical way. But it wasn’t until I had it thrown in my face that my gender was going to actually prevent me from doing things that it really hit home.

I always wondered whether the fact that it had to do with acting made it any less valid. Validity is something I’m always looking for. Why do I think these things? Why do I want this? Is it because of this? Was my childhood lacking that? Is it because my body is already like this? I think I’ve decided, after a lot of trying to reason things out, that it’s a little bit of everything. No one thing could make me feel how I do, or want the things I want.

I take pride in letting things slide. I like being able to say “that’s okay – I don’t mind,” “don’t worry about it,” “I don’t care.” It’s a blow for me to have to admit, to myself or anyone else, that I want something to change. That I need to do something. That I’m not happy with who I am, or who people see me as.

It’s also hard, after so long trying to carve out a space of individuality for myself, to admit that, in a way, there’s a place that I’d like to belong.

Comments

[nezchan.livejournal.com]

Bad human, mama spank. ^__^

Sounds awful familiar, deary mine. Except I started to notice something was wrong around the age of 13, then promptly split my soul and tried to play the role they handed me. Except, of course, nobody gave me a script.

[cassaclyzm.livejournal.com]

Heh. That must be the difference between us. I've always adored improv acting. ;-)

More to come. Every section's going to be a different chunk relating to the same thing, I think. The next one is heavy on dialogue, based on (but not limited to) an actual dialogue I had with a friend not that long ago.