My second person
My first person:
While hyperventilating about classes (‘‘This isn’t helping you any. Just suck it up, get off your whiny butt and do your homework’).
- While listening to an apologetic voicemail from a guy who stood me up on Saturday night, telling me that it was because he started a new relationship with a friend (‘We’re saving this one and playing it over again when you’re getting a big head. This is what you get for thinking, for a nanosecond that you’re kind of not so bad a catch).
- While in class, when I made the unfortunate decision to say (while shaking a whiteboard pen) “How can something so big have so little ink?” (‘Yeah, start out class with sexual innuendos. Great job getting your students to respect you even though you’re way under-qualified for this job. That’s right, next time you might as well come wearing a mini skirt and stilettos and say like in, like, every other freaking sentence so your credibility will shrink from zero to nonexistent)
My second person:
- While hyperventilating about classes (You can do this. Just buckle up. You wouldn’t have gotten accepted into this program if they didn’t think you could).
- While listening to an apologetic voicemail from a guy who stood me up on Saturday night, telling me that it was because he started a new relationship with a friend (Be frank, you weren’t that excited about that first date anyway. And I know that you think that they make a cute couple, and that they are in fact perfect for each other).
- While in class, when I made the unfortunate decision to say (while shaking a whiteboard pen) “How can something so big have so little ink?” (That’s what she said! Heee. Cracks up).
I think everyone (maybe even depressed people in particular) need to develop that second person perspective where they can look at themselves impartially and laugh at their mistakes. Especially when your first person is kind of a bitch.
Killing me softly
One of my dearly held beliefs is that school is fun, and learning is awesome.
Right now though, my life consists of work, work, classes, homework, studying, more homework for good measure, sleep, waking up in the middle of the night and lying awake, shivering and whimpering in a fetal position at the thought of just another day of so much WORK, then work again. Three weeks into the semester I am already burning out.
I haven’t been in school for six years; I underestimated what that meant. I have to reference my dusty old linear algebra books for derivations and formulas that I don’t even remember existed. I have put so much effort into this, but I am so scared that my best is not good enough.
But I am not giving up. I can do this – I KNOW I can do this — but what the freak happens if I can’t?
Ghost of relationships past
So because I am a procrastinator, and also a Google stalker, I found some pictures of my college ex boyfriend’s wedding. It looked expensive, lavish and beautiful; he and his bride were absolutely glowing. When I was looking at pictures, it felt like I was looking at a person that I used to know, and felt happy that he’s doing well (though it took a long time to get to that stage, and out of the I want him to be miserable and have his heart broken, then chewed up, spit out and stomped on stage. Yes, I was bitter). It’s true what they say that time heals all wounds.
The love that I had for him was the stunted, disfigured kind. The kind that is all encompassing and jealous and possessive and which consumes instead of nurtures. I was very insecure, felt that no one loved me and was looking for a lifeline, and he was it. My whole life revolved around him and around making him happy, which of course had the added byproduct of making me miserable and resentful.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had been confident and happier when we were together; because despite its warped quality, I really did love him very much (Not to say that he didn’t have a share of the problems of the relationship, but I admit that my dependence on him was one of the biggest). Of course they will have to remain the nostalgic musings that they are, because it was all once upon a time, and in a land far, far away.
The parent trap
My childhood was — well, not an ideal one. I grew up thinking that I was a disappointment (because I wasn’t a boy), being called stupid (everytime I did something my parents didn’t agree with) and boring (because I liked to read instead of play outside). When I was six, I remember overhearing one of my parents say that it would have been better if I hadn’t been born, and I’ve carried that feeling of unwanted-ness around with me. It’s not that I felt unloved; it was more that I felt my parents loved me despite of who I was rather than because of it.
After a lot of reflection, now I understand that they were very young when they had me, and that they were raising me like they were raised; in their shoes I would have done far, far worse. I don’t blame them for anything, and love my family more than ever. But all these experiences have made an indelible mark on my character, and even though I’m trying to grow and become a better person, whenever I am around my parents I revert to my old insecurities and the worst version of myself. I become defensive, sometimes angry and withdraw into myself. I want to do everything I can to please them, and when their desires and dreams are not in line with mine, I feel incredibly guilty, which in turn makes me depressed and angry. [As an aside -- this characteristic of mine has prompted me to do many a rash thing that I would have never done otherwise. First to come to my mind: enter a freaking pageant. Tons of people staring you while you have makeup slathered on and hair as big as Marge Simpson's while you have a fake smile plastered on your face -- my worst nightmare].
Even the smallest thing that my parents ask for that I can’t fulfill makes me feel like I’m letting them down. My mom asked me for one of those chicken rotisseries (you set it, and … FORGET IT!) thingies on the day before I was supposed to fly back home. I looked in three different stores and called about five more before I gave up. And still I felt like I hadn’t done enough.
When I’m around them, I keep falling into the trap that I’ve dug myself into of thinking only of other people, of their wants and needs and not of my own. I do it unconsciously and I know they don’t expect it of me, but I can’t live with myself otherwise. I don’t know where to draw the line between being nice and pleasing people at the expense of myself.
Conspicuity
It was my first day at school today and was surrounded by really young people. Like, they don’t know who the New Kids on the Block are young. Or, they were fetuses a couple of years ago young. Before I could stop myself, I am thinking ‘What the hell are they wearing and in my days that wouldn’t even qualify as underwear’, and right then and there I realize I have become every single sixty year old person I know. And I wonder, what am I doing here, and am I going to make it in this strange new world where the Jonas brothers are everyone’s guilty pleasure and exposing your lady bits are the norm?
In an effort to be more “down with it” (imagine me doing my rapper hands), I have resolved I will henceforth (or… for the rest of this post) blog all in IM speak.
ZMG, 2day was kewl! I waz a noob, but ppl were gr8! TAFN. XOXO!!! It took half hr 2 write, so atr8 I will fall AAK. Done.
