Waiting for the bus to take me to my doom. I mean date.
I hate anxiety.
Waiting for the bus to take me to my doom. I mean date.
I hate anxiety.
I have a date tomorrow. It’s a set up, a blind date. We’re meeting for coffee. I’ve never gone on a set up before. I’m not really ready to go on a date.
I have too many things to fix. I want to lose ten pounds and get a good job and have nice clothes and a nice apartment. I want to have interests that other people have or at least have enough knowledge to have a conversation about it.
Instead I feel like a mess. Very rough around the edges. I don’t know what to say to this guy. Like, I’m so boring all I do is work and scribble in photoshop. I don’t like anything. I’m not into games or sports or fitness ( he likes these things) I’m going to have to fake one of these things at least.
I almost feel bad for the guy because he thinks he’s walking in on a potential new girlfriend. Instead he’s getting me, who is so weird and non-normal.
I’m going because I don’t want to waste his time. My eager friend set this up and we texted one night and he asked if I felt comfortable getting coffee. I said yes because I don’t want this guy to text me thinking I’m something I’m not. I want him to meet me and make his decisions from there.
Insecure much? I’m awful.
(And I suppose that I might not even like him… )
Heavy hearted today and most of the days surrounding today. I knew I shouldn’t have called my mother today, but I did with ten minutes left on my lunch break and we ended up getting into a fight where I hung up on the phone on her.
We were talking about health insurance and how I can’t afford it. We both want to see what happens with Obama care but she’s trying to tell me that throwing away $400 dollars a month on health insurance is smart in the long run. “What if you get hit by a car?” she asks.
Well, that’s very likely to happen after I get evicted from my apartment and can’t afford to buy food seeing that $400 IS MORE THAN HALF of what I make in a month. Plus with my student loan repayment, I need to be careful of every penny.
And then she says, “Well, your father and I tried to tell you when you went off to grad school.”
And I just saw red. It was like I told you so and we knew you’d fail and you’re ridiculous and you brought this on yourself and just everything all at once.
So I said, “I can’t believe you just said that to me. I have to go,” and hung up on her.
It’s just like, I know in the back of my mind that my mother doesn’t understand about my being an artist, that most people don’t get it, but whenever this is brought to the forefront it’s like getting bashed with Thor’s hammer. Mjolnir, right in the face.
I know it’s a hard road and I was trying to tell my mother that one of the privileges I don’t get to have is health care, that my doing this, taking the path my heart wants, is not going to be easy and comes with a lot of sacrifice. I’ve given up privacy and any kind of respect in society, because artists don’t get respect until their name is famous or they work for a famous company (when I say “I’m an artist” or “I’m a freelancer” I can hear the eye rolls or the “uh huh” heavy on the disapproval) I’ve given up ever owning anything ever— I’ll never own a house, or a car, or anything worth anything.
I keep forgetting that I don’t even have my mother’s respect. That one’s hard to deal with.
The scary thing is I can feel my heart changing. I can feel my notions about family just crumbling bit by bit. When I think of my family, my heart is not happy, it pangs. It hurts, feels anxious. Soon, it will be numb and I will feel nothing at all when I think of family.
If you had a friend dealing with the same things, you wouldn’t berate that person, say, ‘You’re not working hard enough,’ ‘You suck,’ or ‘You’re not as good as [whomever].’ You’d offer your friend encouragement, you’d try to point out all the things your friend did right, and how much progress your friend had made.
You should do no less for yourself.Be very careful how you talk to yourself. Because you are listening.”
I’ve been really busy lately. These next two weeks are going to kill me, but I’ll be really proud of myself if I can pull it off.
The next two weeks my days are going to be 7am to 1am. But that could be doable. Right now I’m thinking, art asset project in the morning, then bookstore job, then animate evenings until 10:30 or so, and then draw until midnight.
I’m slowly working on being a more attractive person, starting with my personal habits.
I’ve flossed every night for more than two months and I’m really proud of that because it’s the first time ever that I said, “I’m going to do this every day” and have actually done it. First time ever.
So I added a skin regiment to that. I’ve always been sporadic with my beauty routine, just doing things as it came to me with no plan or regularity.
In my teen years I felt beauty was out of my reach. I had no idea how to do anything and I was too embarrassed to ask anyone. Beauty magazines were for pretty girls, and that wasn’t me. I wasn’t close enough to anyone to confide my shame at being so disgusting. And by our culture’s standards, I was. This is not an exaggeration. So I just tried not to think about it. Dating and sweet sixteens and best friends who know you inside and out were obviously not for me. I contented myself with being a spectator, watching those around me do. It would have to be enough.
I am still fighting this. I am still a spectator but I am no longer content to watch. I want to change but fear still holds me back.
I was both an ugly duckling and a late bloomer. I did not find my stride until I was 26 years old. And even now, years later beauty is still elusive.
I don’t want to be alone the rest of my life, but the thought of letting some guy get close to me when I still feel a great deal of shame about how I look and my personal habits, it makes me deeply embarrassed and self conscious and ashamed.
I’m still that ten year old that my father used to apply make up to before going to school. I was so ashamed every morning. I didn’t want him to, but he couldn’t let me leave the house “looking like that.” Not that he knew how to put on make up. Or do my hair for that matter, but nearly every morning that’s what he did, my hair and makeup.
I think that affected me and my self worth a lot, so much so that I think I’m still coming to terms with it.
All I know for sure is that I am afraid of being that old maid, so I need to look young when I am old or else I have no chance of finding someone.
That means I need to make serious changes to my life now or it will be too late.
And I don’t want to settle for the dregs anymore. I want someone who fits me, not above me or below me, but on my level.
My goal is to have finally transformed into the person I want to be by my birthday in May. I want to have my looks, my diet, my weight and my drawing skills under control in about six months.
The drawing is going ok. I do better with a project than I do without. Still haven’t made it through a month drawing everyday, but I draw more often than not. I think the repetitiveness of drawing guys over and over us helping me visualize them without reference. Oh, I still need reference, but I notice that I’m “guessing better” when I finally do go to track it down.
I am in bed and I am tired. This week and the one after is going to be difficult. I somehow have gotten myself into another project i don’t want to do.
This animation gig is cool but hasn’t paid me a dime. I have to ask my mother if she’ll spot me $300 for rent. Kay owes me more than that but she doesn’t have it yet either.
I feel a bit overwhelmed. I hope I can pull this off. The freelance project I’ve got now is an illustration job for a mobile game. It’s going to be a lot of work but I hope it will pay me.
I’m so sick of doing work and not getting paid. It’s such a double standard. You need money to live, you need a job to get money, you need experience to get a job, you have to work for free to get experience but in the mean time your rent is due.
I’m trying really hard not to eat between meals but all I want to do is put food in my mouth. Every time I want to eat, I take a sip of water instead. I’ve gone through two glasses already. How am I going to make it through to dinner?
I have no will power at all.
Life continues to move on.
Been occupied with trying to keep a mouse out of the apartment. I am afraid of mice. Well, afraid of one biting me, chewing through my things and nesting and having babies. If we catch the fucker I’ll have no problem dumping it at the nearest park as long as I don’t have to touch it.
Been doing freelance but haven’t been paid yet. :/ I am so worried I am going to get screwed.
I’ve also been addicted to tumblr lately. I think I need a small break. Though I am doing all right with the sketching if I do say so myself.
Joyce Roche, Avon’s first African-American female vice president
Here are ten ways to overcome imposter syndrome (ShriverReport.org)
Wow, I didn’t know there was a name for it.
It is so validating/oddly comforting having a name put to something you’ve been feeling almost constantly for the past several years of your life. It’s like a big hug and someone saying “You are not alone. What you feel is real and valid, and wrong - you are not worthless. It’s a lie’