I’m still depressed.
I have spurts of joy, but it is the wild, careless, devilish kind of joy—grounded in rage, but with overtones of sarcasm and misanthropy. Not the silliness, contentment, and love that I feel around my handful of close friends. Not Home.
“We’ve spent so much time together, we’re like a family now!”
Au contraire, amalgamate castmate, we are co-workers who can’t escape each other.
If you didn’t know (which isn’t unlikely), I auditioned for some BFA acting programs this year. I have been accepted by SUNY Purchase’s acting conservatory, which was one of my top choices and will probably be attending in the fall. The initial excitement of just being accepted (they’re quite selective and it’s something I think I should be proud of—eighteen out of about a thousand get in) quickly gave way to weird apprehensions. I like the East Coast in general, and New York City in specific, but how long will the big city novelty last? If touring has taught me one thing, it’s that in the end, it’s not as much about where you are as who you’re with. Of course, I would actually be staying in one place at Purchase, providing more opportunity to form meaningful friendships, so that point is mostly moot. The uncertainty remains.
“New people aren’t any better than the old ones. I bet they almost never are,” says George to Emily in Our Town, as he explains why he would rather stay in Grover’s Corners with her than go off to agriculture school in the fall. My rare close friendships are so special to me. If I manage to form new, meaningful connections, might the already established ones diminish in importance, shriveling, maybe eventually crumbling?
If I manage.
The other possibility is that I would feel as isolated and mordant as I am now.
Through most of elementary school, I loved the Animorphs series. In the books, a race of slug-like alien parasites has slowly been taking over humanity, oozing into people’s ears, then flattening over their brains and taking complete control of their bodies. A small group of teenagers, who have gained the ability to morph into different animals from another, much kinder alien race, are the only people who can stop them. What struck me about these books was the idea of a few odd-ball kids trying to navigate a world where anyone could turn out to be a mindless vessel for an intergalactic colonialist slug. Our heroes and heroines referred to their adversaries not as The Yeerks, but as them. Third-person objective collective pronoun, italicized.
I did then and still do feel sometimes like there is a massive, inclusive community of people with a similar knowledge of etiquette, pop-culture, trends, fuck if I know what else, all with the ability to interact happily and believe the same lies, THAT I AM NOT A PART OF. At home I am spoiled so by people with a similar brand of cynicism and distrust for the mainstream that when I get to know others, I am often surprised by how seriously they take this petty little world of theirs. I am able to make polite conversation, and occasionally enjoy the company of Yeerk-vessels, but I wouldn’t be able to handle being surrounded by them for nine months of each of the next four years.
Isolated. Mordant.
I find satisfaction in finding very precise words to describe my moods. It’s somewhat of an indemnification for negative moods, but I would so much rather find satisfaction in the precision of: placid, lustful, vivacious, wistful, untouchable, kiddish. Anything, really.
Other words are imprecise, and can shape-shift based on usage. My cast-mates call me strange sometimes—I am a novelty, interesting to observe, but in the end made up of unfounded opinions and nonsensical actions. My friends call me strange sometimes—I am unique, surprising, out of place, but justified in thought and action. The word strange can carry an air of reverence that makes one feel as if they’ve found something nearly invisible, but truer and more meaningful than what most others find.
I like my people like I like my trees. Spiraly.
Brilliant and poignant observations, as always. I'm aching for you, kid. It gets better, I promise, but to some degree this will dog you throughout your life, because you have incredibly high standards for everyone, but particularly yourself.
ReplyDeleteThe Yeerk analogy is apt, though. Most people suck. The trick to getting along with them is to embrace whatever common humanity you can see, but not to let your standards slip. Tricky.
I have utmost confidence in your ability to get along, though. Embrace the uncertainty! And I have a much more optimistic view of your future than you seem to. You will rock once you have a group of like minded souls to embrace you. I always think that I won't find them for me, and then I do.
I was missing your writing. I'm glad you took the time to post. I hope to see you when you return. Until then, be well.