2:30 p.m. - 07/13/02
this is a title.
Lately, I say things to myself like, "Maybe I'll never write another word," as if that will mean escaping why I so desperately need to, as if that will erase the fears that make me keep writing, and the love that is luckily fulfilled by what I do for fear.
Does that make sense? I write because I'm scared and because I'm needy in ways I won't admit, and I'm lucky because somewhere in me something *truly* needs to write, and is satisfied because I keep acting on my fear.
But I consider deprivation and severing all the same. I say to myself, maybe I'll never write again. Maybe I'll never go to college. Maybe I'll move back to N*land for senior year, move away from my parents. Maybe I'll never be famous. And all this will make me happy. Because it's easier to believe that the experiences are bringing about pain than too believe the pain is manifesting in experiences. It's easier to believe that school makes me perfectionistic, self-loathing, insecure, and self-destructive, then to say, I've spent most of my life feeling completely unworthy of happiness, and that's evident in how rarely I experience it. I'm afraid that if I claim how little of my life is externally-based, how truly my life is created by the internal energies that control and define it, I'll be sentencing myself to live in those energies, in that pain, forever. And I'm scared that if I don't face it, I'll just keep running around in circles, trying to please everyone, trying to achieve, because how else am I going to be peaceful? Never being still because then I'll never be able to be still.
I don't hear, "you should be a writer" when people tell me, "you should be a writer" and I don't hear, "you should be an actress, when people tell me, "you should be an actress." I hear those evil words "talent" "creativity" "potential"- words that have tortured me for at least twelve years. Gifted. Gifted means a debt to pay back, having to put all your energy into your talent so as not to waste it, so as not to leave God sorry to have created you so creative. Potential means, "you can be good, you *should* be good; you just need to put a little more effort into it." All of my "talent" was achievement-based, was product-based. I was not an actress the days I wasn't auditioning, wasn't getting parts, wasn't bowing to standing ovations. I was not a writer the day I wasn't winning contests, wasn't ace-ing essays, wasn't guiding friends through research papers. Being told "you should write" was being told "you shouldn't live in Wisconsin and be a counselor." It was being told "you can write" which was the same as "you cannot listen." "You are creative" which meant "you are not insightful." They were listing my talents, and my ability to "phrase things" (as I so beautifully minimize it) was always at the top of the list. When friends said, "you should be a social worker," I only managed to keep from flying through the roof because I was on my knees begging for more information. Why did they think this? Was my ability to listen to them, to challenge and comfort them, as worthy as my ability to write? Did they like who I was as well as who I pretended to be? Did they like the fact better than the fiction, the reality over the theatrics? Could I really just be me?
Dr. R is right about the ambiguity. I want desperately to sever myself from all of the pain I feel has been inflicted on me by my potential. I want to never again write a poem, never daydream about the talk show circuit and the Bestseller List. I want to never again be known as "The Writer" or "The Poet" more even than I want to never be known as The Depressive. I want to run screaming from my family, and at the same time, I want to tie myself to my mom and never leave. I'm terrified to not write, to not act, to not go onto school. I gave up Ivy League aspirations because I knew they wouldn't make me happy; I didn't realize releasing them wouldn't make me happy either. I want to take a year off after high school, end up forgetting college, taking a low-key job- not because these things will please me but because they aren't tied to the same pain I see in the life I'm building out of fear.
Simulatenously, there's the fear of not doing these things. Doesn't not being a writer just prove that I wasn't good enough to be? Doesn't not graduating summa cum laude from Stanford just prove I really was more crazy than eccentric? That I really wasn't smart...
I spent some time on an analytical essay this week, and at the end of the day I wanted to throw myself out of a window into a fiery pit. Writing never makes me happy. When I'm putting a phrase together, I'm not happy. When I'm rereading it later, I'm not happy. When I'm being told, "your writing is so fabulous," I do not feel fulfilled. This is someone else's talent, something I learned to do along the way because I couldn't speak. And I feel like such a mess because how do I continue storytelling without writing (the storytelling is inherent, is not fearful) and at the same time, how do I be happy with my words?
At RED, they kept my writing to a minimum because I was learning how to talk. And I was the happiest I've ever been the last couple months at RED. Then, when I was leaving, they begged me to use my talent, to show the world how wonderful I was; they told me again and again that "I would be the famous one..."
We talked about my working there, and even Stacy with her skepticism, said, "I would not be at all surprised to see you back here for a job." Five minutes later she added, "But you know, I'd be sorry if you came to work here. I'd be sorry if you never used your writing and your other gifts, if you settled for this." Settled? Settled for Utopia, for a place where I felt important and cared for, peaceful and inthusiastic? Why does this have to be settling?
It isn't just about convincing them to give their blessing; it's about convincing myself I don't need it. I don't need them to know what will make me happy. I need to understand that working at RED will not make me happy the same way that holing up in a city apartment writing novels will not make me happy. Nothing will make me happy until I am happy. Nothing will be a solution until the problem is solved, until I am ok from the inside-out, and the energies creating my reality are ones I would support.
I'm tired of running, of feeling the world on my shoulders, and the world looking down on me. I'm tired of trying to be perfect, when the definition is constantly changing, person to person, hour to hour. I want to be good enough without anyone else's affirmation; I want to be good enough without mine (even though I'll have mine then.) I just want to be peaceful with things as they are. There's a difference between consciously evolving and always pushing yourself to change. I'm tired of doing the latter. I feel like I'm going to crack into pieces any day now. One more thought of college and my brain will break in two.
I'm afraid not being famous means I was not worthy of attention and that I will not be credible. That when I have things to say no one will listen to me.
I'm afraid not being a writer, not being an "artist", will mean that I do not experience life and express myself deeply, that I am not unique, worthy, important. Special.
I'm afraid college will prove how unintelligent I truly am, and this college - more than that. How generally naive and dense and un-creative I am. I'm so tired of always looking for another way to prove myself.
I'm afraid that if I gave up everything I'm "supposed" to do and explored my reasons for doing it, I would look like a failure in the eyes of the world. Maybe they would think I didn't fulfill my potential, or maybe they'd reconsider if I ever had it at all. I want so badly to just help people in small ways, in one-on-one, no books between us, sort of ways. I want to think out loud and not have to write it down and make it sound smart first, and I can't do that because I'm afraid that if I don't sound smart, I'm not smart, and if I don't make art, I'm not artistic.
Laura told me once that I've a poetic soul. A poetic soul. And she had never even heard that I write poems when she spoke those words. So what does that say? That I am poetic in ways other than my writing?
Still, I feel certain that if people were randomly polled with the question, "What is Mary's greatest talent" words would be at the top of the list. Oh, she's so good at writing things down. I feel like anyone can take dictation from the muses. Just once, I want to take direction from myself, but I fear I'll get addicted and go off track. Can't I please be special and myself at the same time?
I am such a 4.
chord
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