It's been almost a month since my last blog post, and I never meant to neglect this thing so cruelly. I love this blog; it began as a chronicle of my weight loss surgery but now it's turned into an actual catharsis about my emotions and dealing with the everyday occurrences that make up my life.
Most people likely don't care, or think I'm just narcissistic to think anyone wants to read about my life, but that's fine. This is primarily for me anyway.
My life has been crazy and not always in a good way, it just depends on who you ask. We're still finishing post-production on the film, preparing to go to Texas for this big horror convention. Everything's been chaotic and trying to stay on top of things makes me alternately feel like a rockstar or completely useless depending on the day and the time of the task at hand.
Beyond that, though, other things. I'm dealing with a lot of existentialism right now, trying to decide what I want out of my life, who I want to be. What makes me happy. I really do feel like two completely different people, one of whom is responsible and sensible and nurturing and the other that's wild and crazy and spontaneous and impulsive. The selfish side of me wins sometimes and I do something without thinking about how it will impact someone else. I enjoy going out partying and dancing and drinking and being a little bit reckless and then coming home and buckling down and doing some serious ass-kicking work. I can't be 100% one or the other. I'm too functional to be a hot mess and too crazy to be a stick in the mud. However, I spent years of my life being the 'responsible' one and I never really had the opportunity to go out until recently. I lived in Waco, where there pretty much IS no 'nightlife' to speak of, and my friends all lived in Dallas. And even when I was in Dallas, those friends had no desire to go out partying or out to clubs, they were all older than me and had already gotten it out of their system. So now that I'm here, living in Hollywood and going out is such a regular thing for me, I'm getting this reputation among my older friends that I've 'changed' or I'm not the same person they once knew.
If there is one mantra that I've heard from the time I had the weight loss surgery, it's "You've changed."
My own worst enemy has always been me. I've been at war with myself for as long as I can remember and sadly, thinking back, I don't think there was ever a point in my life where anything was 'enough' for me.
I grew up as an only child because my half-sisters weren't in my household and we intersected only at brief intervals during my upbringing; as such, I constantly had my mom and grandparents gushing over me, bragging about me, telling anyone who would listen how amazing I was. You'd think that this would have instilled self-esteem in me, or some kind of self-worth anyway, but I think it actually served to do the opposite. I always felt like I had to keep that going, that I had to be the best at everything. I had to make myself better so that people didn't feel disappointed in me. It's like the joke about how you should go in expecting nothing so that you're not disappointed; I felt like I was in the other boat. People kept saying how great and talented and amazing I was, so when I met those people I'd better really be great and talented and amazing.
My entire life I've worked very hard to be the best, or among the best. I had nearly perfect grades in school and worked hard at extracurriculars. I held down a job from the time I was fourteen years old while going to school. I was the youngest writer on the syndicated New York Times wire when I was in high school. I befriended my teachers and actually kept in touch with a lot of them after I left their classes. I didn't just want to be good, I wanted to be exemplary.
But I also wanted to be liked. I felt fiercely weird inside, completely misunderstood. I didn't seem to fit in anywhere. I was lucky enough in middle school to find other weirdos, and even if they weren't the same exact brand name of weirdo as I was they were better than nothing. I strove to acclimate; I was like an animal forcing myself to evolve to survive to my new surroundings. I was already well-versed in the practice of eating my feelings, so I was never going to be the 'hot' one in the group. I had to settle for making myself funny or good at group projects or reliable or interesting. I had to make myself an asset to my group of friends.
When I was younger, someone once asked me what my greatest fear was and I really had to think about it. It wasn't loneliness; I spend plenty of time alone and I actually like my own company most of the time. It wasn't heights, or big dogs, or spiders, or the dark, or any 'normal' fear like that. I gave it a lot of thought, running through lists of things, but none of them truly scared me, they just disgusted or upset or bothered me.
And then it hit me.
I was afraid of being forgotten.
I have a very acute phobia of being left out, excluded, forgotten. Of being a non-essential. A 'luxury item'.
In every group of friends there's the one 'core' member, the one planet that everyone else orbits around. This person is always charismatic and whether it's discussed or not, this person has the final say in things like what movie is seen, what restaurant a group goes to, what bar is best for the night's activities, what time we're all getting together. This person's approval is sought on new purchases, on new love interests, on upcoming plans and ambitions. Their word is valued and taken as gospel most of the time.
Other than this particular person, the other roles are more flexible. There are always people there to fill the archetypes and round out the group. If a hole occurs, either a new member is initiated in to fill it or someone already existing in the group simply expands their own range to plug the gap.
My whole social life growing up hinged on me being on the peripheral of a group. In high school I found a girl who, ironically since she was considered alternative and weird, was by all accounts a 'mean girl', and I was determined to make her like me. Consequently, I became her right-hand lackey and an integral part of the group. When I was in her bad graces, however--- like if I disagreed with her on some vital topic, or refused to cover for her when she was sneaking around with her boyfriend and getting me in trouble as her alibi--- I found myself completely cut off. My group went to the movies or concerts or dinner and no one texted or called me. I was in a complete blacklisted state and that terrified me. It wasn't the idea of not having friends; if they'd simply stopped being my friends it would've been bearable, it would've given me closure. It was the idea that I had simply ceased to be thought of at all, that I was so insignificant a part of the ecosystem that no one batted an eyelash when I suddenly ceased to exist.
It probably comes from a very Freudian place involving my dad abandoning me before I was born, and I admitted years ago that I thought that something I did caused him to leave. On an academic level I realize he was just a shithead and a horrible father and it's very unlikely that anything I ever did would've had any bearing at all on his decisions, but on an emotional level I couldn't accept that. I was convinced that it was my fault, that I didn't try hard enough (despite not having been born yet when he bailed).
I have a hard time saying no to people, disappointing people. I live in fear that if I disappoint them, if I let them down, then they will find someone else who will say 'yes' all the time and will always come through for them and I will find myself replaced. I will become disposable, dispensable, someone who isn't necessary to someone's happiness. And that terrifies me. I want to be vital, I want to be memorable, I want to be looped in.
I get jealous and insecure and petty pretty easily. I am always fighting with insecurity. I have this weird thing where I feel like I am lucky to even have friends, and therefore they are the ones who are being generous and awesome just by hanging out with me when they could certainly find cooler people who'd bring more to the table than I do. Therefore, I always try to come through for people in a big way. I pay attention to tiny details that seem insignificant to so many other people. I remember people's coffee orders, what kind of cigarettes they drink, their favorite stores, some weird kitschy thing they collect, what their favorite pizza is, so that if the situation ever calls for it I can surprise them and get it right. I get original artwork or out of print books or concert tickets or rare old collectibles for my friends on holidays. If I go shopping and see a t-shirt that reminds me of someone, I buy it for them 'just because'. It's something I do completely without thinking about it now; it's the same thing with mix CDs, when I hear a song and it reminds me of someone I immediately send it to them or put it on a USB drive for them or make them a playlist because I just need them to hear it. The people in my life, the relationships I treasure most, are like pieces of a big quilt and I am always adding, expanding, stitching, reinforcing, trying to make it the softest, warmest, most comforting and durable thing I possibly can.
I have this permanent, overwhelming desire to love my friends, to protect them from the outside world and from themselves, to provide them with whatever they need. For the people I love and who I believe love me back, I will go to the mats every time and beat anyone who opposes them into bloody smears.
Now that I've lost weight, I still find myself trapped in this bubble. I want to be memorable and vital and essential. I'm certainly not in the market for finding anyone to date, but I love going somewhere and having people flirt with me or hit on me. It makes me feel like a million dollars to have strangers hitting on me for the first time in my entire life.
It's gotten a lot more frequent since I uprooted my life a few months ago and moved to Los Angeles, and I suppose to a degree it's true. But overall, it's something that has wormed its way under my skin, gnawing at me like parasite kisses until I am constantly feeling pressure to censor myself, to shield parts of my 'new life' from people who knew me in the 'before times', as my best friend Brandy calls them.
The fact of the matter is, I have NEVER been a true twenty-something-year-old girl until now. When I was in high school, I stayed out late at punk rock shows with my friends, but I never did anything 'bad'. I never went on dates, I never snuck out after curfew, I smoked a few clove cigarettes to appear cool before deciding that I wasn't cut out for that rebellious image. I was the alibi for my friends who broke the rules; my house was 'where we were all sleeping over', my mom was the designated driver if any of my friends had too much to drink at a house party, and I patiently waited for my turn to shine. I was the voyeur, the documentarian; I carried my camera with me like a talisman, shooting my friends laughing and dancing and kissing and fighting and playing music and painting, and I clung to the shadows in oversized hoodies and shapeless jeans and t-shirts with sarcastic one-liners on them, trying to carve out an identity for myself in a sea of people who were fast on the way to learning who they were.
My wanderlust took hold early and with rows of shark teeth; it sank in the minute I got the acceptance letter from Concord University in West Virginia and I didn't hesitate before accepting. I packed everything I needed into a car and my family drove me to my new home and for the first time I was out on my own. I lived in a dorm and didn't have a car, so my freedom was still limited, not to mention I wasn't financially independent. I was basically confined to the campus, which was small and quaint but surprisingly progressive. We had a gay-student group that put on drag show benefits in the food court. We had geeks and nerds and goths and punks and weirdos. I felt right at home with them. I dated one of the nerd royalty and loved him dearly. For the first time in my life I could sleep over at someone else's place without having to check in,
To those people who say that I've changed, all that I can say is 'yes, you're right'. I used to be almost 350 pounds. I used to be incredibly shy and self-conscious due to my weight and I hid it behind being the jovial, reliable, caretaker friend who would hold your purse for you while you went to dance with the cute guy who bought you a drink. I am not that girl anymore. Now I'm out on the dance floor right alongside you, enjoying a drink and working up a sweat with my friends. I'm not the wallflower anymore.
Sometimes my head still goes to those places though and I realize that deep down I am still the same girl. Thomas has said to me more than once 'You still think like the fat friend' and I know he's right. I still feel grateful that people who are beautiful and talented and popular would want to hang out with me. I don't see a lot of worth in myself. I try hard to compensate, to win people over, to stay in everyone's good graces. I'm terrified of being alone and rejected. I cry when I'm left out of plans. I have major insecurities with my standing in any group of friends. I don't think that I will ever feel truly 'good enough' to exist in any social situation. I am always on the fringe, nervously smiling, trying to be charming if someone talks to me, trying to be invisible if they aren't.
My depression and anxiety are at a level they have never been before during my adult life, which is scary because on the surface my life is amazing. I have terrific friends, a fantastic, exciting job, great opportunities, a cool apartment in the best city I've ever been to. But I am constantly second-guessing myself, unsure if I can pull it off or not. I am insecure and I always feel like I'm just waiting for the guillotine blade to drop and my life go back to the way it was before all of these opportunities presented themselves to me.
And in the interim of this chaos, I've realized the truth--- my weight loss surgery was not a 'cure for what ailed me'. I lost 150 pounds, but I still eat when I'm stressed. I still find myself reaching for things that aren't good for me, aren't beneficial to my weight loss. And I still feel like the fat girl deep down where it really matters.
I don't know how to fix these things. Depression is a real thing. If I knew how to switch it off, I would've done so years ago.
I'm turning into someone else, someone new, but I don't know what that will mean for me in the long run.
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