Anxiety and Other Drugs
"The Color that your Eyes Changed with the Color of Your Hair" by Carissa's Weird
February 6, 2019 1:33 AM
I am reading this essay called "Cezanne's doubt" and mentions how his psychology is what drove him to his genius, even if it is not the genius itself. How if he had never been as alienated by his own anxiety, then he might've not seen the pieces of perception like he does, but in the end, it was the moments where he attempted to express the as-of-yet unexpressed that made him a master.
I have to be up in around 7 hours so I can finish reading that essay; so that I can read some other guy's short story and then begin the process of deconstructing it for repurposing into my own story; so that I can finish Chapter 7 of "The Filmmaker's Handbook"; so that I can do all that in the bit of free time I have between class and work and flitting around trying to organize things for the video department. I can't sleep. I am nauseated and overheated but also cold, sort of. I feel like I just cried but I didn't, I was just watching YouTube and reading fanfiction in the hopes I'd knock myself out.
I really do not understand that essay except for in fragments. I feel like it comes out of the page and I understand it, but as a whole, I could not care less about his cruelty, his fear, his god damn doubt. I don't understand anything right now, though. It's like whatever my life is I've walked too close to the frame and now I can't consolidate the image of whatever I'm looking at. It's just details and no coherence. I felt this horrible weight in my stomach all of today, and I had to do a lot of socializing and every time I said words to another human being my self-esteem ratcheted down a few notches, lol. Which sucks, because my classes are quite interactive.
My head hurts a little and it's too warm outside. Not "warm," really, but nothing like the single-digit mess of last week; the heat is still roaring like it's compensating for that, so now I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt and no underwear with the window open in my dorm room in an attempt to counteract.
I want to be less like this, I keep thinking. It is super useless to have a thought like that. Why am I so amused by this fucked up stuff in my head when no one else is? They think it's sad, or they remind me that it's inherently sad. But it's so funny, too, isn't it? Why not? Is it because it's normal.
Ugh, I can't track anything. Any time I consume any sort of media I have a work mindset and I feel guilty when I'm not analyzing the structure of a dumb troom troom video. That's a weird and messed up feeling to have, haha. See? That's funny. I don't know that it's relatable (I both hope and do not hope it is), but I am amused at the absurdity of my attempting to apply a rigorous technique to a video that was never really meant to withstand that sort of inquiry; it's inconsequential.
Have this hyperawareness of atrophy somewhere in me. I'm not sad, I'm just anxious and experiencing terribly low self-esteem. This isn't new. This isn't the result of some change in my life (well, it might be, but not a significant change, more like—school started back up, lol). I've felt this many times over the course of my life, and I've dealt with it in a variety of ways. And this time I am dealing with it but really, really, really hoping to just focus on my work. Even if it makes me feel bad and all I want to do is lie down or drop out. As I am doing this work, I try to fend off the sharp thoughts with very weak reminders not to compare myself with others, not to idealize a certain future, etc. etc.
I hate saying this, because it's kind of a lie, but I feel so old. Obviously only in one way, which is that I am tired. This too shall pass, this too shall pass, and repeat. In the rest of the ways I guess I feel younger than ever.