What Is Writing?

Good morning.

That reminds me of how I start my emails at work. Two words and a period. Is it strange that my monotony comes through even through written word to other humans? You should have read the email I sent to the psychiatrist. I read it back to myself a couple days later and confirmed that I did indeed sound like a confused sociopath.

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Which gets me thinking: how much of your true self shines through in your writing? How much of a veil do you place over your face when you’re in public versus when you’re blogging? When you’re writing fiction? When you’re sending emails? How much does your interaction with other people contort your personality?

I’m under the overwhelming perception that we all adopt a separate personality of some sorts to help us navigate through the social aspects of life. People smile when they’re depressed, they compliment you when they hate you; they present one person and behave as another, sometimes on purpose, sometimes inadvertently.

reset_brain1In some ways I’m sure this mechanism is kind of like a reboot system for our brain. We’re constantly updating, constantly uninstalling, installing, and reinstalling programs, and sometimes we need to run in the background behind other systems to stay sane. When all else fails, we grab our trusty paperclip and needle the hell out of the restart/reset button. Sometimes we wake up with a major update like “no more bitch-face”, sometimes we wake up with subtle changes that protect us from outside predators that we don’t really notice.

I think our personalities run in the background. I think they learn things as we learn things and they’re the subtle changes that protect us. Life in itself is traumatic; who’s to say we don’t all have a little taste of DID?

Obviously not as severe as others. Don’t take that out of context like “oh Golly Gosh Alucard, that’s like saying everyone experiences anxiety or depression”.

Well, don’t take this the wrong way politically correct individuals, but everyone does experience anxiety and even depression. Some people have different levels of severity, for different lengths of time, for different reasons. We’re all human. I hate when people get overly sensitive about that kind of stuff.

If I were saying it to invalidate your feelings of anxiety and depression, then I could see you getting angry.

 

That being said, yes, I did compare humans to computers. They’re all different systems and I have to learn their algorithms in order to interact with them. Unfortunately, they short circuit often and I have no idea how to fix computers on that level. Go figure.

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So I find it interesting that when people in my creative writing class read my work, widen their eyes, and stare at me like I’ve just snapped someone’s back in half with my mind. Then they say “you can convey and amazing amount of emotion through your writing”, “your descriptions are amazing”, “your characters are amazing”. And I stare back like they’ve just given birth to fifteen children with all the same hair and eye colors.

I honestly despise the majority of my writing. The curse of a writer, am I right, am I right? No? No one?

I only write what I see in people because I all ever do is watch. That has it’s advantages and disadvantages. And I write from a place not of compassion or love or anything positive; the majority of the time I write from a place of turmoil and struggle. That’s not to say I couldn’t write a soppy love story like The Notebook, or something motivational, and that’s not to say I couldn’t write something based on positivity rather than actual life.

But News flash: since when was a life without struggle interesting to read about? Even Luke Skywalker’s damn aunt and uncle were crispy bodies by the door.

I took that from a song. It’s on YouTube. “Bushes of love” or something. It’s hilarious.

But I can see the differences in myself when I write. Emails I feel are an inaccurate source because I will change my wording depending on who I’m talking to and therefore put up a pretty thick veil over their eyes and my eyes.

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Take A Moment To Notice Which Traits the ONLY FEMALE has . . . I suppose prestige could be female, but they don’t give her hair and she has more of a male profile. Wtf kind of stupid ass picture is this. 

But in blogs I notice the difference dramatically. Particularly this one. My ideas aren’t usually as concise or organized as they are this morning, and usually I’m stuck in a perpetual state of suffocation. But today I am neither. In fact, I’m nothing. And that’s a sign to me that 1) I’m more stressed than I believe and that 2) my brain has come to the rescue the best way it knows how.

I base my characters off my observations, my experiences, but most of all these separate personalities. I consider them separate regardless of the “idea” that having “personalities” means you’re “crazy”.

I reject that hypothesis like I reject that picture above. I think it means I’ve been through a lot, I think it means my brain actually gives a damn and is trying to sort things out because I’ve failed majorly at doing so. I think it means it’s giving me a break so I can study and make it through work tonight and tomorrow morning. I think it means I actually got good sleep last night. I think it means, much to my dismay, that I am indeed human. I think that’s what having different personalities means.

This current me can be very prudent and conceited at times. It makes me laugh. I come across as arrogant but absent; at this point I’d walk into a store, avoid eye contact with everyone, grab my things, go up to the counter without responding to their “hi, how are you?” comment, and get the fuck out. Anxiety wouldn’t play as large of a factor. That’s why I consider this personality “the break”.

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It’s also the personality where I’d fuck with you. Oh I’d fuck with you so majorly, just for some amusement. That’s kind of how I wrote that psychiatric note I think. It’s how I wrote the note to the guest speaker when I had detention in high school for skipping class. It was all a joke: being put into groups to discuss our “feelings” because we were all troubled kids heading down the highway to hell. At the end we were required to write a reflection about the whole process and the poor speaker wrote me back a frantic note worried I was a mental case about to slash my wrists vertically, spray a gun through the school, or murder a teacher. I never said any of those things blatantly (for obvious reasons) but the darkness and thoughts I described were indicative of a disturbed mind, disturbed enough to scare the shit out of him and the school.

Little did they know I was rolling on the floor crying from laughter while I wrote it and while I read the guy’s response. Poor guy.

If I find something to be stupid, this is the part of me that will put a sarcastic twist on every little ounce of your feelings. Who knows why I/we do that.

Writing, any creative outlet really, is a way for our brain to bring together all the different parts of our humankind selves so that they all have a say. It’s a form of checks and balances for our sanity. So when people ask me why I enjoy writing, I simply smile; that’s a question that would take eons to fully explain.

“So what I’ve come to realize is, I will NEVER fit in, so it’s my duty to make sure, that I stand. The fuck. Out.” -Tech N9ne 2016 baby. 

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