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Child_of_Lite
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Name: Autumn
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Houston
Birthday: 8/27/1989
Gender: Female
Interests: Freedom of expression.
Expertise: Pointing at Lindsay whenever she's the last to stop clapping after a song at concerts. Making Coffee, Brewing Coffee, Finding new ways to make coffee. Balancing stuff on my head.
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
10/6/2005
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| You know the ones. It might be with whichever gender you're not usually attracted to, and you wake up thinking, "But I don't swing that way! (Or do I, since obviously my subconscious finds it sexy? I'm so confused)!" Maybe it's just with someone you know that you're not particularly attracted to for whatever reason (social things count as well as physical, such as not being able to find yourself attracted to someone because they are your s/o's ex, or your s/o's sibling, ect), and you wake up thinking that you'll never be able to look at that person the same way again.
Recently I had one. I won't say with who. But even though the dream felt nice, I woke up thinking, "But I still love my fiancee. I don't have any feelings at all for this person. This is so weird!" Now I can't hang out with this person without thinking about it at least once in the back of my mind, and it doesn't feel sexy, just awkward.
How about it? Ever had any awkward sex dreams?
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| (Pt. 1 was a status update).
So in a status update I did a while back I quoted Euripides as having said, "One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives." I thought about this mathematically, and originally established that on a scale of 0 to 10, 0 being absolute hatred, and 10 being absolute adoration, a loyal friend would rate 6-10, an acquaintance 1-5.
I originally said, admittedly, in a very bad mood, that a family member rated 0 for me, so even an infinite number of relatives could never mathematically add up to a loyal friend. Having thought some on it, it really depends which of my family members you're talking about. Now I'd say on average, they score about 2, realistically. So...mathematically speaking...it takes 3 relatives to add up to a loyal friend...? :p
But of course, humans do not = integers. So this entire discussion is pretty useless; you can't add and subtract humans that way, not in terms of personal worth and affection anyway.
I think the first thing I said makes more sense though: even an infinite amount of relatives could never amount to a real, good friend for me. I have always and will always, as far as I can see, value friends over family. Friends choose each other. Family you're just pretty much stuck with, whether you like them or not.Which is pretty screwy, I think. Why should I have to associate with people just because we share genes? It makes no real sense. My family and I look and act nothing alike for the most part (I used to know people who only knew me as "Apphia's sister" because our faces looked so similar before she gained all that weight), I don't agree with any of their philosophies, and most of them are ignorant, selfish, and as whole, pretty uneducated. They stand for many things that I hate, and close their minds to anything that does not fit their religious/political mantra. I don't feel affection or have any sort of relationship with these people on a daily basis, so why must I be forced to interact with them?
Anyway...hooray for pointless philosophical/mathematical discussion! That's what summer is for ;).
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| Recently I invited a friend (who shall remain nameless) to a potluck at my new house. It took a couple of minutes for me to realize it, but she was behaving quite strangely; she was so much more extroverted than she usually is, so different, so...not her. It wasn't the friend I knew. Then she tells me that she also smokes now, which she never used to do before, having known all of the health risks, ect. and making her decision not to smoke based on that. I was wondering what went wrong, asking myself how she could have changed so dramatically.
It turns out she's on anti-depressants now. And when I learned this, my respect for her as a long-time friend, an artist, a fellow woman, and hell, a FELLOW HUMAN, plummeted.Because I believe that taking a drug, any drug purposefully to "modify" your behavior is inherently wrong.
I can hear the bleeding hearts now. "BUT AUTUM, U DONT KNO WUT THEYVE BEEN THRU! DONT JUDGE PEOPLE FOR TAKING EMOTIONALLY-ALTERING DRUGS, OMGZ!"
To counter this, I have laid out my personal beliefs in the matter thus:
1. To take any drug simply for the purpose of "feeling better", or even worse, to "correct your behavior", is censorship. It is censorship of emotion; it is censorship of the human condition and of life. I believe that censorship in almost any way, shape, or form is morally wrong.
2. I've been depressed for many different reasons at different times for the great majority of my life. Mostly, it's just an overriding theme of life being pointless. But guess what? EVERYBODY goes through this. Everyone. I'm not special, and I definitely don't need "correcting" just because the fact that life, ultimately, ends and usually in the most meaningless ways possible, gets me down. Hell, I'd be crazy if it DIDN'T get me down! And taking drugs to make oneself feel better about something which is inherently horrifying from a philosophical perspective is just sick. Doing that is definitely sicker than staying "bi-polar", or "Afflicted by a mental imbalance", as the psychiatrists say, so that people will pay more money to see them rather than accepting life's harshness and growing up.
3. It being said that I am a person prone to feeling miserable, I'd still rather be miserable, and to feel ALL my feelings, and to think ALL my thoughts, good and "bad", than to be floating around in a happy-go-lucky cotton-candy Prozac land. I mean, seriously, how is that any better than boozing and snorting cocaine every night? They're all just dreamlands people escape to because they can't deal with life.
I want life. I want to experience all of it, to drain it to its dregs and still ask for more. Bad times, good times, it's all a part of my human experience, and I don't want to miss any of it while wandering around in some fake reality constructed by chemicals you throw down in the form of little white capsules that affect your brain and make you think you're happy, when in reality, it's nothing but a lie constructed by your body's reactions to that chemical.
4. If all of this isn't making any sense, how about this: the people who manufacture and dispense Prozac and all of the other anti-depressants are literally profitting off of people's misery.
Let me say that again.
Psychiatrists, the big drug corporations, pharmacists, drugstores like Walgreens, salesmen, marketing firms, and even politicians who are paid lobbying money (not to mention the chemical engineers who created the stuff!) are all profitting off of millions of people's despair and hopelessness. Sound unethical? That's because IT IS.
/End Rant.
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| My life in the past 2 weeks has consisted of:
"BLAH, GOTTA PACK! GOTTA PACK...oohh I just found my old (insert object of nostalgia here)!"
After which I was most poignantly saying,
"HURRR, GOTTA STUDY! GOTTA STUDY!"
Followed by a short but unbearable term of:
"EEEK! GOTTA TRY NOT TO FAIL MATH TEST! GOTTA TRY NOT TO FAIL MATH TEST!"
Which I am now about to follow with,
"BLAH, GOTTA CLEAN STUFF! GOTTA CLEAN STUFF!"
In other news: when practicing a parkour vault/jump flow routine at San Jac last night several people noticed me. One said "Whoa, it's acrobatics!" To which I bluntly stated, "No, it's parkour." Another person said, "Are you training to be, like, a 'stunt man'?"
Odd. O.o
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| I don't know how to start. I guess that's my problem: I can't even start a blog, let alone start making good, empathetic, living art again.
It feels like I hit my peak a long time ago. And it was such a short-lived foray into the world of art...I knew so little, and didn't have much skill, but I had the expression; I had the passion, which I think is the most important part of art.
Art used to be a necessary function for me. If I didn't express myself in some way nearly every day, whether it was through my mediocre but expressive drawings, my artsy, if weird, clothing design/creation, my unskilled but earnest music, my highly trained but incredibly morose poetry. And every time I made something I thought was truly good, every time I made something I thought expressed my feelings and thoughts down to a tee while still being enjoyable, I felt so happy, even though I was miserable.
See, the only time I was able to make art that I considered to be worth anything was when I was just supremely miserable, was when people were liars and fakers and were unnecessarily cruel to me, and when I realized that the modern Christian church, and, in fact, the whole world, wasn't what I thought it was.
And I don't think I've made anything at all worthwhile in more than a year and a half. I've tried all sorts of things, but the inspiration just isn't there. Because I am depressed, yes, but not the kind of depressed you can write a song about, if that makes any sense at all. The question is: is the depression a symptom of the lack of inspiration for art, or is the lack of inspiration for art a symptom of the depression? I can't figure it out. It's probably both. Kind of a vicious cycle, as ridiculously emo as that sounds =/. They feed into each other and it never ends.
And lately, I've been trying anything I can to remember the old feelings I used to have, old feelings that inspired my art, feelings that allowed me to feel like making art was worthwhile even if no one ever saw it. Part of this endeavor to restore my desire and inspiration for art has been to seek the musical opinions of people I respect, even people I no longer really know at all, thinking it might restore to me some modicum of confidence in my abilities, but, to give a vast understatement, they haven't been very interested. Which really doesn't help...but I guess I shouldn't have relied on other people's opinions to restore my supposed talent. Pretty immature, I guess. After all, I didn't feel as if I needed their opinions when I felt that I could make good art in the first place, so why should I rely on other people's opinions to revive and rejuvenate it? It's time I grew up. Inspiration will either come back or it won't. Prodding it and trying to force it will only make things worse.
I don't want to sound crass, but it's kind of like libido. You have to leave it alone for a while, and it'll come back. There's just one thing: libido is a bodily function, to some extent, while inspiration is completely intangible. So, the sad truth is, while things like libido are bound to come back eventually due to the biological nature of human beings, inspiration might never return. | | |
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