I have an insatiable curiosity about the weird things some famous people get up to. It’s cool to see new pictures of their babies, to hear stories about things they’ve seen or done, and to basically see them in their everyday lives.
It’s a kind of weird thing to admit, but I think the fact that I spend so much time wallowing in depression actually adds depth to my writing. It flavors the things that I do with a touch of melancholy and I think that makes my characters more realistic.
Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I were someone else. I wonder if I would be happier if I had been born in some other life.
It’s just that looking at the people around me, I constantly think that others are happier than I am. You can’t see the misery from the outside. And I get envious.
I think that if somehow my mind was switched into some other body, with a super awesome life all set up in place… I would be just as miserable. It’s just the way my brain is wired. I have a hard time finding the good in any situation, or my innate sensibility keeps me from indulging in all the crazy adventurous things that other people do all the time. So I don’t get the memorable thrills that other people can draw forward at a whim.
Transgender people face a powerful body dysphoria that goes so much deeper than malformed genes and personal image. I think that I suffer from a dysphoria of the psyche. Even if I had no memories of who I am and had to start over… some part of me would still look around and start screaming “This is wrong! All of this is wrong!”
Maybe it’s brain chemistry. Maybe it’s upbringing. Maybe everyone is just as miserable as I am all the time, but I’m like hyper-sensitive to it or something. Whatever it is… I sometimes feel that the world is a dark and terrible place. The walls are closing in and everyone is looking at me and judging me and I get scared to go to sleep, but when I sleep I never want to wake up.
Books and music alleviate the depression, but I don’t think anything is ever going to take it away. It is an indelible part of me no matter how different I wish things could.
And sometimes I look at the people around me and I see how happy some of them are, and I wonder if I’m alone.
I am a singular in a world full of plurals. If I just disappeared… would anyone even notice?
Okay, so back in the day I would read things by authors where they would give advice to “Don’t get your feelings hurt by one bad review. If you’ve got twenty good reviews and one bad review… just shake it off and let it go. There’s always going to be that one person that hates your writing. You can’t let one review drag you down.”
I would read that advice and snort and shake my head. I would be like, “There’s no way I would ever be like that. I’m never going to let one review totally ruin my day. I’m not going to be that kind of writer.”
Evidently I was wrong. I am totally that kind of writer.
Wah! My feelings are all stingy with despair and the foul brine of irony. I just need to stop reading reviews and checking my sales on Amazon to see if anyone likes my stuff. So, so, SO lame.