I'm too often at war with myself.
And too often, I hate myself.
Because, you see ... deep-down, in real life, I'm really a Cat Valentine kind of person.
Now, if you know the character of Cat Valentine, who has appeared on shows such as Victorious and Sam & Cat, then this might seem kind of contradictory.
Because, if there's anyone who's not at war with themselves, it would be Cat Valentine.
But ... I'm still a Cat. In fact, that's kind of part of the problem I have with myself in the first place - which is that I don't have a problem with myself.
It isn't as complicated as it might sound, however.
Because the key concept to notice in what I've said so far is the phrase "deep-down."
Because I have trouble accepting myself.
And you know why I have trouble accepting myself?
It's simple.
It's because of fear.
I'm afraid ...
... a lot. I mean, like, a whole lot. People notice it. People can see it in my face - all the time. People tell me I'm always frowning, looking worried.
What they're seeing, though? That's fear.
And it's hell to write this, because I'm afraid.
I'm afraid of laying out these feelings.
But a big part of this blog is doing things that scare me, so I'm writing this one no matter how much it frightens me to write it. No matter what might happen or how writing this makes my head feel dizzy and my stomach churn.
And if knowing this disappoints you, too bad. This is who and what I am, as are all these blog posts.
But it doesn't mean I'm not dreading writing it. It doesn't mean I'm not scared of what will happen once I hit that Nickelodeon-Orange "Publish" button on the top of the screen.
But I'm going to hit that "Publish" button, and then walk away from the computer for a while after I do, fretting about how this piece will be received - convinced despite my best efforts that I've failed my readers and myself.
Because I feel like a failure all the time.
And I mean, constantly.
Like, to the point of absurdity, most likely, if viewed from others' perspectives.
Sometimes ... I feel like I break everything I touch. I feel like I mess up when I try to express the most basic thoughts or concepts. I feel like I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm socially awkward. I feel like I'm ugly. I feel like I'm downright stupid. I feel like I'm mentally deficient. I feel like I'm a poor example. I feel like I'm making all the wrong choices. I feel like I let down people who make the mistake of calling themselves my friend. I feel like I'm a waste of time.
And, worse, I feel like I don't deserve to be happy. And, heck, sometimes, I even feel like I deserve to be treated as if I'm all the things in the first paragraph.
And when I feel this way, I sometimes lose hope.
And, so, it becomes a self-punishing cycle.
And why does this cycle perpetuate itself in my head?
Because I don't forgive.
This means not just that I don't forgive other people.
I also don't forgive myself. For anything. Ever.
And I do a lot of things wrong.
I've talked about being autistic before in these blogs posts, but I've lately begun to wonder if people know what being autistic is really like - if they even can know unless they've experienced it.
And, you know what? I think they can know even without being autistic, because we who are autistic can share and express ourselves about it.
But know that it's not as simple as so many of the cardboard cut-out representations of autism. We're much deeper than that, because we're people - not cut-outs.
So, yeah, I'm autistic.
And, you know what? I think they can know even without being autistic, because we who are autistic can share and express ourselves about it.
But know that it's not as simple as so many of the cardboard cut-out representations of autism. We're much deeper than that, because we're people - not cut-outs.
So, yeah, I'm autistic.
And, as a result, I mess up all the time.
And, most of the time, nobody understands how or why I'm doing what I'm doing - even if it makes perfect sense to me.
And, as I said in my last piece ... I'm clumsy.
I'm awkward.
And my skills at manipulating the material objects world around me are virtually non-existent.
And I'm prone to jump from one thought or emotion to another rather suddenly, in ways that perplex other people.
And I'm prone to do the same in the way I talk, moving from subject to subject.
And, as a result, people don't often know how to engage in regular conversation with me because they can't connect with what I'm saying, no matter how hard I'm trying not to fail and to connect with them and to share the deepest thoughts in my mind.
And many autistic people are also very honest.
Too honest.
Painfully honest.
And, at the same time, we can be seen as lying by other people because they think we're exaggerating when we're not.
We're simply expressing how we feel in any given moment.
And this is too much for some people to handle because it makes them think, again, that we just want to be the center of everything. We don't. We're just confused and overwhelmed, sometimes.
In this way, and in others, we also tend to also speak our minds in a way that is of-the-moment and is very much unconcerned with social constructs.
Or niceties. Or politeness.
We just say what we're thinking.
And, on that note, we're also extremely literal.
We're simply expressing how we feel in any given moment.
And this is too much for some people to handle because it makes them think, again, that we just want to be the center of everything. We don't. We're just confused and overwhelmed, sometimes.
In this way, and in others, we also tend to also speak our minds in a way that is of-the-moment and is very much unconcerned with social constructs.
Or niceties. Or politeness.
We just say what we're thinking.
And, on that note, we're also extremely literal.
Like, super-literal.
And that confuses people, too.
And being literal can make other people think you're angry with them.
Or disrespecting them.
Or, worst of all, that you neurotypical folks just think we're not just stupid but also are idiots.
And we can often suddenly blurt out a reference to something that appears to have nothing to do with anything else going on in the world around us at that moment.
To us, it's a carefully thought-out expression that often follows a clear, logical path.
To everyone else, though, these mental shortcuts can just seem like random babbling or an effort to seek attention.
And, because we often have our own unique path to get to where we're going in our own heads, this can mean we have very specific issues with how other people do things.
In fact, we sometimes have to work out our own very specific patterns of behavior to achieve what others can manage when they're just being off-the-cuff.
And, because of this, we sometimes don't adapt well when other people are the ones deciding on plans and rules and methods.
And it doesn't help that we often have to find these shortcut pathways to doing simple things, what others call "life hacks" just to get ourselves through everyday situations that give us difficulty.
Because, while it may be therapeutic or helpful for us ...
... it's seen by other people as just, you know, kinda weird when we have certain preferences, certain ways we've conditioned ourselves to think and act and deal with things based on our own lived experiences.
And we're also often very sensitive to certain lived experiences that you deal with every single day. Now, that's a concept I've had trouble explaining to other people. But I try to get it across like this.
When you wake up and have a glass of orange, juice it can taste like the most refreshing thing ever because it's been a while since you tasted orange juice?
Well, imagine if every time you ever experienced anything, no matter how many times you'd experienced it, it was like that. And, now, imagine if every time you ever did any sequence of events, there were so many permutations that it felt like it was a whole new experience, and that you couldn't rely on past data to tell you what was actually going on ... so that you had to interpret everything as if it were totally new information every time anything happened to you. So, yeah, there's that when you're autistic.
And you know what else? Pain works that way for me, too.
Because every wound is new. Every damaging experience is like it's the first time. Whenever I cut my finger, it's like I've never cut my finger before ... so, try to imagine your first paper-cut.
And everything around us is always trying to tell us how we should feel, from media to family to friends to you-name-it. And we don't like being forced into a particular way of being.
And, sometimes, the reactions of others - and of ourselves - can result in a mental meltdown, when our brains are reeling and we don't know what's happening in our own body and mind.
And these reeling emotions can come from anywhere and anything, because it's not about how familiar the experience is ... because, like I said, may experiences are always new. So it can come ... from a paper-cut. And the reactions of other people are so routinely confusing about just about everything in life, that every discomfort can become a trauma - or a source of fascination in you. You just never know.
So you roll with it and try to study the world and try to control the data and to understand the input ... and to understanding emotions in other people, too.
And my autism also means, with its emotional roller-coaster of confusion, that I'm often very broad and gregarious in the way I express myself. I gesture and gesticulate and wiggle and sway ...
To us, it's a carefully thought-out expression that often follows a clear, logical path.
To everyone else, though, these mental shortcuts can just seem like random babbling or an effort to seek attention.
And, because we often have our own unique path to get to where we're going in our own heads, this can mean we have very specific issues with how other people do things.
In fact, we sometimes have to work out our own very specific patterns of behavior to achieve what others can manage when they're just being off-the-cuff.
And, because of this, we sometimes don't adapt well when other people are the ones deciding on plans and rules and methods.
And it doesn't help that we often have to find these shortcut pathways to doing simple things, what others call "life hacks" just to get ourselves through everyday situations that give us difficulty.
Because, while it may be therapeutic or helpful for us ...
... it's seen by other people as just, you know, kinda weird when we have certain preferences, certain ways we've conditioned ourselves to think and act and deal with things based on our own lived experiences.
And we're also often very sensitive to certain lived experiences that you deal with every single day. Now, that's a concept I've had trouble explaining to other people. But I try to get it across like this.
When you wake up and have a glass of orange, juice it can taste like the most refreshing thing ever because it's been a while since you tasted orange juice?
Well, imagine if every time you ever experienced anything, no matter how many times you'd experienced it, it was like that. And, now, imagine if every time you ever did any sequence of events, there were so many permutations that it felt like it was a whole new experience, and that you couldn't rely on past data to tell you what was actually going on ... so that you had to interpret everything as if it were totally new information every time anything happened to you. So, yeah, there's that when you're autistic.
And you know what else? Pain works that way for me, too.
Because every wound is new. Every damaging experience is like it's the first time. Whenever I cut my finger, it's like I've never cut my finger before ... so, try to imagine your first paper-cut.
And everything around us is always trying to tell us how we should feel, from media to family to friends to you-name-it. And we don't like being forced into a particular way of being.
And, sometimes, the reactions of others - and of ourselves - can result in a mental meltdown, when our brains are reeling and we don't know what's happening in our own body and mind.
And these reeling emotions can come from anywhere and anything, because it's not about how familiar the experience is ... because, like I said, may experiences are always new. So it can come ... from a paper-cut. And the reactions of other people are so routinely confusing about just about everything in life, that every discomfort can become a trauma - or a source of fascination in you. You just never know.
So you roll with it and try to study the world and try to control the data and to understand the input ... and to understanding emotions in other people, too.
And my autism also means, with its emotional roller-coaster of confusion, that I'm often very broad and gregarious in the way I express myself. I gesture and gesticulate and wiggle and sway ...
... which most people don't like ...
... because they often end up on the receiving end of it.
And this is where my greatest fear comes to life. Because I realize in writing this that what I truly fear isn't actually the hate - or the pain of rejection, in and of itself.
I'm telling the truth when I say I don't care about that.
What I care about is being wrong. Because I'm terrified of making mistakes. And I can become timid, not toward people, but toward the world when I present the things that appeal to me.
And, while I don't fear the hatred of others in and of itself, I fear being incorrect because of what will happen next - that overwhelming swarm of confusion as I struggle to figure out how to right the ship of my not-so-great brain, that the fresh pain of the rage of others will leave me confused and bewildered and unable to function and that my autism will get the better of me and that I'll have a meltdown.
For me, those are real cause-and-effect processes. I don't want the overwhelming emotional input of the hatred of others. I fear that I won't be properly prepared for others' hatred. And I fear that people must secretly hate me. Like, really really really hate me. And that they'll express it out of nowhere when I'm really least prepared for it, which I fear would be disastrous for my state of mind.
I'm telling the truth when I say I don't care about that.
What I care about is being wrong. Because I'm terrified of making mistakes. And I can become timid, not toward people, but toward the world when I present the things that appeal to me.
And, while I don't fear the hatred of others in and of itself, I fear being incorrect because of what will happen next - that overwhelming swarm of confusion as I struggle to figure out how to right the ship of my not-so-great brain, that the fresh pain of the rage of others will leave me confused and bewildered and unable to function and that my autism will get the better of me and that I'll have a meltdown.
For me, those are real cause-and-effect processes. I don't want the overwhelming emotional input of the hatred of others. I fear that I won't be properly prepared for others' hatred. And I fear that people must secretly hate me. Like, really really really hate me. And that they'll express it out of nowhere when I'm really least prepared for it, which I fear would be disastrous for my state of mind.
And, as a result, I kind of anticipate these moments of being overwhelmed. And, as a result of that anticipation, I get defensive about dealing with the words and thoughts and ideas of other people before much has really happened.
And, in turn, this filter sifts the input I get from other people and targets pretty much only the negative things they say about me, no matter how much I want to be positive.
Because I'm scared - not of being hated, but of this abject terror at being unprepared, so I anticipate hatred the way someone might when they're about to get jabbed by a needle at the doctor's office. They know the pain is coming. They see it as inevitable, really, and so they anticipate it and prepare themselves for it.
And this, in turn, can sometimes lead to my thoughts getting very dark in terms of how I view the real nature of people and the world around me.
You see - like I said, I don't care that I'm sometimes hated, despised, the object of disgust.
And I want friends, but I kind of expect that other people will hate me. Because, when I expect it, I'm prepared for it.
But I don't trust many real people to be my friends. It's why I had so many stuffed animals and dolls as a kid.
Because dolls and stuffed animals and toys and games and rides can't run off on you. They are all based around objects, so these objects - if given some kind of mental priority by you - automatically understand what you mean when you say what you say. They get why you're doing things. They don't care that you fall down or drop things. And they won't suddenly flood your brain with unprovoked input you didn't ask for that's all negative and nasty, within a certain framework of likelihood and predictability.
Because they certainly don't hate you. So there's no hate to prepare for. And if there's no hate to be expected, there's not going to be any out-of-nowhere malice displayed on the part of others that you have to be wire-tense and prepared-for.
And, well, I'm not ashamed to admit that stuffed animals and toys and games and rides can also be a lot of fun, to be honest.
But, at the end of the day, they're not a substitute for real people.
And they're not a substitute for being out in the real, normal world.
And there's an important word to me - "normal."
But it's not important in the way you might think.
Because I have no desire to be normal.
In fact, I've always felt very proud to be one-of-a-kind in my manner, style, expression, and nature.
But with that pride has always come a sort of grim acceptance ... that the price I have to pay for being unique is to be hated ...
... as if this was as inevitable as my own failure ... which is kind of pretty much the most unfair indictment on other people someone can manage to express.
And which makes me automatically so totally defensive from the start when I'm dealing with other people.
Which, of course, doesn't help me make any friends, either.
And that makes me so scared I get to be afraid to take the risks I need to take.
And it makes me even more fearful that I'll lose what little material possessions I've got in the world - and contributes to a desperate need on my part to constantly seek distraction in the form of what entertains or pleases me.
So, yeah, as a kid, I had a lot of toys.
Because I could handle those relationships.
Because the echoes of real human connection didn't hurt. And I trusted them.
And they were there for me in ways other people weren't.
They weren't afraid to be close to me ...
... or, worse, disgusted by the thought. They liked spending time with me.
So, for a long time when I was young and figuring out who I was in the world, I spent that time both alone and desperate not to be alone.
I've written about some of those feelings before on here, and about how much those moments hurt and how alone it made me feel. But - as much as I wanted to be loved, I was too scared of the fresh feelings of the pain of retributions that come with raw hated to take the chance on it with other people. I'm not proud of it. But it's what happened. And, as a result, I learned to be alone even when I was surrounded by other people, living in my own world and doing my own thing - convinced that everyone would hate me anyway, so why bother.
So, dismissing other human beings, I often find myself retreating into my own world even when there are people around me - because I'm so convinced they will hate me, anyway, that I don't even want to try. Because I don't want that pain, even as I find that I couldn't care less about the hate. So, I amuse myself and pass the time.
And, besides all that, the things I like to do aren't things other people like. I enjoy coloring. I enjoy Transformers. I enjoy Star Wars. I like unicorns and ponies. I like pop music and variety shows. I like bubble gum ice cream. I like Yoo-Hoo Chocolate Drink. I like breakfast cereal for dinner. I like breakfast cereal for lunch and breakfast, too. I like candy.
And I love Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
And I love Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
And I love the Disney Channel. And I love Nickelodeon.
But I know from painful experience that most other adults my age don't give the slightest thought to any of these things.
And, worse, I know they have active disdain for them. And disdain feels, to me, like hate. It hurts. And, because I associate with these things so much, I sometimes feel like that hate extends out to me.
So, I fight back, the only way I know how - in advance.
Starting to see the problem here?
I recognize, rationally, that this is a fight that's going on pretty much entirely in my own imagination. But that doesn't mean I'm not feeling real pain, experiencing real sorrow from it.
And that doesn't mean I don't still feel like I'm making a fool of myself around people who I imagine always feel superior to me with all my flaws and mistakes and weird behaviors.
So, where does that leave me? It leaves me thinking that one of the worst things in the world is to be bad at doing things. It leaves me convinced that people hate those who are bad at everything. It leaves me convinced that people will hate me. It leaves me convinced it's the nature of people to hate me. It leaves me feeling that I'm bad at everything. It leaves me thinking that people who are bad at everything are weak. It leaves me feeling that other people are mostly bad. It leaves me thinking that bad people attack those who are weak.
Put those thoughts together into an overarching narrative. What do you get? You get a world where I'm a weak failure because I'm bad at things, and where pretty much everyone else in the world hates everyone who's bad at things, and that they're all out looking for weak people to attack. And you get a world where I can't handle those attacks, even as I don't care that I'm going to be attacked - in the abstract, at least.
And I bet you can guess how that makes me feel a lot of the time.
If you answered "Scared and alone, hugging my computer" - then, well, you guessed right.
And, you know, despite her buoyant nature in many of the episodes of the various shows to feature Cat Valentine, we've seen her suffer at least a little bit these same vulnerabilities. She, too, knows she's not the smartest tool in the shed, as it were. She knows, too, that some people in the world will be very cruel to her because of the way her brain works. She knows, too, that people will be cross with her when she makes mistakes. And she knows, too, that such mistakes are inevitable, given who and what she is. And she's also usually very unpleasantly surprised when criticized.
But where Cat is a hero to me is in how she eventually always handles these situations when they happen.
After she gets over her surprise, she deals with it.
She doesn't let herself care about it. And she goes right on living her life.
And she goes right on being Cat.
She lets herself be true to who and what she is every single time. And much faster than I ever can.
And, before I started writing this essay, I used to let myself think I was ALWAYS doing that, too. But, what got me to want to write this piece was realizing that sometimes, I'm not letting myself be who and what I am. And what I realized in writing this is that the thing that's stopping me isn't coming from this imagined hatred of me by other people. It isn't the feeling of being unprepared and the sensitivity to fresh pain.
It's this silly fear that's kept me going around like this, for years, in a circle.
For so long, I've been letting myself NOT be the Dee that I am, the Dee that's so similar to Cat Valentine, but who isn't.
Because I was making myself lose the fight so I wouldn't have to be hurt by the loss.
Because I was so ashamed of being defeated by life that I gave up first.
And this has colored my feelings about other people, setting me up for a mindset where I put everyone else in the world down ... proactively ... without raising myself up. I may totally suck as a human being, says my internal logic, but everyone else is awful in a completely different way. This way, I was prepared to be hated. Being hated I could handle. Being unprepared to be hated - not so much. That made me feel like a failure, because I couldn't handle the shock.
And I'm tired of thinking like this, because it's boring and stupid and not who I am deep down when I'm not afraid of being hurt.
So why be afraid? Why not throw that fear out the window and let myself feel what I really feel inside my mind and body?
And who cares if I can't dance? And who cares if I celebrate too loudly, or annoy some people because I express too much joy at simple things?
And who cares if people think - know - that I'm kind of stupid?
I can be fantastically stupid. And that can be fantastic.
Because I can't really make myself give up, no matter how down on myself I get.
That contradiction will just keep causing me pain, like a belch of logic that won't leave the esophagus of my brain. And that's not how I want to live, want to think, want to be. Because it's worse than stupid - it's hateful.
And I'd much rather wave off hateful thoughts and feeling and celebrate the joy I feel deep down at life when I let myself cast off the burdens I feel when I'm around other people, whatever their level of perception about me might be.
And that's why Cat and I are alike.
Because, ultimately, yes, we both have doubts sometimes - and we can both be hurt. But, at the end of the day, we're going to do what we're going to do.
In this case, it just took me several years to figure out what Cat figured out over two television shows and four seasons of comic adventures. Maybe she's a little bit smarter in how she does things than I am in this respect. So what?
Because, while - yes - she might be smarter than me in that respect, that doesn't mean I can't learn from her, like I do when I've watched the amazing Ariana Grande portray Cat Valentine over the years. Because when I watch Cat Valentine get into and out of predicaments, her attitude has always inspired me, and made me think to myself that I wish I had the strength to let loose with my thoughts the way she does, at which point I realize over and over that I do have that strength ... but too afraid of the wounds I felt sure would be caused by their hate to go "unprepared" into those moments.
I didn't care about what other people thought of me, but I did care about the input. But not Cat ... well, not in the long-run at least.
Because Cat has that special kind of courage that I treasure - the courage to stand tall in whatever she is doing and to let the world's input bounce off of her like she's a movie action hero.
But I also realized that if Cat allowed herself to fear input the way I do, she'd most often be alone.
And that's when I realized the key to Cat's strength.
She gets it from her friends.
Cat's friends stay true to her ... and, as a result, she can stay true to her friends - and she has real, true friends within the context of the show. She has the kind of friends who won't abandon her and will stand by her, the kind of friends I recognize that I've needed in my own life, the kind whose criticisms are good-natured and whose barbs aren't meant to hurt and whose input can be warm and friendly and not just caustic.
And this has made so much of a difference in my life, the times when I have friends like this.
But I don't let myself have friends as often as I should, the way Cat does.
And I have envied her these friendships, fictional though they are - because they're something I aspire to in my own life, and something I too often fail to let myself have.
And there's a reason for that.
Which has to do with trusting other people into my personal space.
And trust, I realized, comes from NOT always anticipating failure - because you can't be positive when you anticipate failure ... and you can't have a positive outlook on the unknown when you always anticipate failure.
Because ... really ...
... who knows what the future holds in any given moment?
And I'm realizing in writing this that a big part of trusting other people is forgiving them.
Which brings me to the center of why Cat is my hero.
She forgives the world for its imperfections - and, in so doing, tries to make it better, brighter, more colorful.
She forgives people when they remark on her style, manner, dress, ideas, voice.
She doesn't have to overcome an overwhelming barrage of input because she's able to let the data go and move on with her life. She isn't storing it up like resentment, the way I do, with every little confusion making me progressively more and more frustrated. And, you know, I think that Cat probably deals with the same kinds of frustrations I deal with ... and handles it, because she can forgive in a way that's moment-by-moment, kind and compassionate not just when she wants it to be but in all cases, for all the world.
It's like her forgiveness is a constant shield that protects her senses from becoming overwhelmed, and it's a powerful kind of shield at that. I'm trying it now - letting go, forgiving the world the times it has let me down and frustrated me, and it feels like I'm finally coming in out of a long and self-induced rainstorm.
And it means that I don't need to express my frustrations about other people as a barricade against them hurting me.
I don't need to strike in a pre-emptive way, don't need to - for instance - lash out at intellectuals because I'm not as smart as them.
Because, you know what? I love geeks and nerds, even if they've hurt me. I don't need to shield myself from them, because I love them.
But it's not just one-sided.
So, you know what? I also love fashionable, gorgeous and stylish people who are in on the latest trends ...
... because I don't need to shield myself from stylish and fashionable folks who might think I look stupid for wearing red with my red hair, which I like to do.
And I don't need to proactively express disdain for social customs and rituals and behaviors.
I don't need to torture myself mentally to unlearn all the social constructs and mannerisms because I'm certain I'll fail at them so why even bother?
So I don't have to feel seething contempt as a barrier against failure when it comes to my little habits and quirks, like the way I tug my hair when I'm nervous or excited or happy.
And I can dress up to be pretty, because I'm not building shields against making fashion mistakes.
And maybe I'll just let myself wear a skirt I think is pretty rather than not bother to buy it because it surely couldn't look good on me and who wants to make that mistake.
I can wear what I want and not just surrender to jeans and a t-shirt because I'm too gross to wear anything else.
And I still won't care what other people think.
But I won't curl up into a ball despite this, convinced that I'm despised before I have evidence, waiting for a pendulum to knock me out my seat.
I'll simply continue on being me.
And I'll accept that people want to show me affection.
And I'll accept that people care.
And I'll believe them when they express it.
And I will show the world my stories and my art, rather than remain convinced that they will all be hated and despised.
Why bother?, I used to say. Everyone will think they're horrible.
So what? What an adventure that will be to get as far as I can outside the lines.
And if people don't like my superheroes, so be it.
And if people don't like my horror stories, so be it.
And if people don't like me, their damn loss - not a damaging wave of hate in my own head.
And I will trip and fall.
And I will be stupid some days.
And I will spill things on myself - maybe even on-purpose, because I want to - and it will be TOTALLY AWESOME.
And I will sing, like I always do, without wondering when someone is going to tell me how awful my voice is and therefore always waiting to be silenced.
And I will express affection toward others, like I always do, but without thinking in my head that I'll be hated in return.
And I will be as gracious with gifts as I always have been.
But I won't let myself get depressed wondering if the gift was given with genuine affection or out of obligation.
I'll just smile and say how much I appreciated it.
And I will not expect even my closest friends to hate me in advance of whatever I say or do.
And I will come at them with positivity in the hopes it will be returned, instead of anticipating total failure.
And I will ask my friends to be proud of me and to truly care about me.
And I will wave my arms like a maniac when I listen to music I love, like I always have and always will ... but I won't pay a mind toward cringing at my shoulders like I'm about to be struck from behind.
And I will sway to whatever music suits me like I always have, but I won't grit my teeth waiting to hear someone yell that my taste in music is horrible.
And I will do all of this with the abandon of someone who isn't waiting for the hammer to fall.
And I will dance when I want.
And I will dance how I want.
And I will dance in any way I want.
And, worse, I know they have active disdain for them. And disdain feels, to me, like hate. It hurts. And, because I associate with these things so much, I sometimes feel like that hate extends out to me.
So, I fight back, the only way I know how - in advance.
Starting to see the problem here?
I recognize, rationally, that this is a fight that's going on pretty much entirely in my own imagination. But that doesn't mean I'm not feeling real pain, experiencing real sorrow from it.
And that doesn't mean I don't still feel like I'm making a fool of myself around people who I imagine always feel superior to me with all my flaws and mistakes and weird behaviors.
Put those thoughts together into an overarching narrative. What do you get? You get a world where I'm a weak failure because I'm bad at things, and where pretty much everyone else in the world hates everyone who's bad at things, and that they're all out looking for weak people to attack. And you get a world where I can't handle those attacks, even as I don't care that I'm going to be attacked - in the abstract, at least.
And I bet you can guess how that makes me feel a lot of the time.
If you answered "Scared and alone, hugging my computer" - then, well, you guessed right.
And, you know, despite her buoyant nature in many of the episodes of the various shows to feature Cat Valentine, we've seen her suffer at least a little bit these same vulnerabilities. She, too, knows she's not the smartest tool in the shed, as it were. She knows, too, that some people in the world will be very cruel to her because of the way her brain works. She knows, too, that people will be cross with her when she makes mistakes. And she knows, too, that such mistakes are inevitable, given who and what she is. And she's also usually very unpleasantly surprised when criticized.
But where Cat is a hero to me is in how she eventually always handles these situations when they happen.
After she gets over her surprise, she deals with it.
She doesn't let herself care about it. And she goes right on living her life.
And she goes right on being Cat.
She lets herself be true to who and what she is every single time. And much faster than I ever can.
And, before I started writing this essay, I used to let myself think I was ALWAYS doing that, too. But, what got me to want to write this piece was realizing that sometimes, I'm not letting myself be who and what I am. And what I realized in writing this is that the thing that's stopping me isn't coming from this imagined hatred of me by other people. It isn't the feeling of being unprepared and the sensitivity to fresh pain.
It's this silly fear that's kept me going around like this, for years, in a circle.
For so long, I've been letting myself NOT be the Dee that I am, the Dee that's so similar to Cat Valentine, but who isn't.
Because I was making myself lose the fight so I wouldn't have to be hurt by the loss.
Because I was so ashamed of being defeated by life that I gave up first.
And this has colored my feelings about other people, setting me up for a mindset where I put everyone else in the world down ... proactively ... without raising myself up. I may totally suck as a human being, says my internal logic, but everyone else is awful in a completely different way. This way, I was prepared to be hated. Being hated I could handle. Being unprepared to be hated - not so much. That made me feel like a failure, because I couldn't handle the shock.
And I'm tired of thinking like this, because it's boring and stupid and not who I am deep down when I'm not afraid of being hurt.
So why be afraid? Why not throw that fear out the window and let myself feel what I really feel inside my mind and body?
And who cares if I can't dance? And who cares if I celebrate too loudly, or annoy some people because I express too much joy at simple things?
And who cares if people think - know - that I'm kind of stupid?
I can be fantastically stupid. And that can be fantastic.
Because I can't really make myself give up, no matter how down on myself I get.
That contradiction will just keep causing me pain, like a belch of logic that won't leave the esophagus of my brain. And that's not how I want to live, want to think, want to be. Because it's worse than stupid - it's hateful.
And I'd much rather wave off hateful thoughts and feeling and celebrate the joy I feel deep down at life when I let myself cast off the burdens I feel when I'm around other people, whatever their level of perception about me might be.
And that's why Cat and I are alike.
Because, ultimately, yes, we both have doubts sometimes - and we can both be hurt. But, at the end of the day, we're going to do what we're going to do.
In this case, it just took me several years to figure out what Cat figured out over two television shows and four seasons of comic adventures. Maybe she's a little bit smarter in how she does things than I am in this respect. So what?
Because, while - yes - she might be smarter than me in that respect, that doesn't mean I can't learn from her, like I do when I've watched the amazing Ariana Grande portray Cat Valentine over the years. Because when I watch Cat Valentine get into and out of predicaments, her attitude has always inspired me, and made me think to myself that I wish I had the strength to let loose with my thoughts the way she does, at which point I realize over and over that I do have that strength ... but too afraid of the wounds I felt sure would be caused by their hate to go "unprepared" into those moments.
I didn't care about what other people thought of me, but I did care about the input. But not Cat ... well, not in the long-run at least.
Because Cat has that special kind of courage that I treasure - the courage to stand tall in whatever she is doing and to let the world's input bounce off of her like she's a movie action hero.
But I also realized that if Cat allowed herself to fear input the way I do, she'd most often be alone.
And that's when I realized the key to Cat's strength.
She gets it from her friends.
Cat's friends stay true to her ... and, as a result, she can stay true to her friends - and she has real, true friends within the context of the show. She has the kind of friends who won't abandon her and will stand by her, the kind of friends I recognize that I've needed in my own life, the kind whose criticisms are good-natured and whose barbs aren't meant to hurt and whose input can be warm and friendly and not just caustic.
And this has made so much of a difference in my life, the times when I have friends like this.
But I don't let myself have friends as often as I should, the way Cat does.
And I have envied her these friendships, fictional though they are - because they're something I aspire to in my own life, and something I too often fail to let myself have.
And there's a reason for that.
Which has to do with trusting other people into my personal space.
And trust, I realized, comes from NOT always anticipating failure - because you can't be positive when you anticipate failure ... and you can't have a positive outlook on the unknown when you always anticipate failure.
Because ... really ...
... who knows what the future holds in any given moment?
And I'm realizing in writing this that a big part of trusting other people is forgiving them.
Which brings me to the center of why Cat is my hero.
She forgives the world for its imperfections - and, in so doing, tries to make it better, brighter, more colorful.
She forgives people when they remark on her style, manner, dress, ideas, voice.
She doesn't have to overcome an overwhelming barrage of input because she's able to let the data go and move on with her life. She isn't storing it up like resentment, the way I do, with every little confusion making me progressively more and more frustrated. And, you know, I think that Cat probably deals with the same kinds of frustrations I deal with ... and handles it, because she can forgive in a way that's moment-by-moment, kind and compassionate not just when she wants it to be but in all cases, for all the world.
It's like her forgiveness is a constant shield that protects her senses from becoming overwhelmed, and it's a powerful kind of shield at that. I'm trying it now - letting go, forgiving the world the times it has let me down and frustrated me, and it feels like I'm finally coming in out of a long and self-induced rainstorm.
And it means that I don't need to express my frustrations about other people as a barricade against them hurting me.
I don't need to strike in a pre-emptive way, don't need to - for instance - lash out at intellectuals because I'm not as smart as them.
Because, you know what? I love geeks and nerds, even if they've hurt me. I don't need to shield myself from them, because I love them.
But it's not just one-sided.
So, you know what? I also love fashionable, gorgeous and stylish people who are in on the latest trends ...
... because I don't need to shield myself from stylish and fashionable folks who might think I look stupid for wearing red with my red hair, which I like to do.
And I don't need to proactively express disdain for social customs and rituals and behaviors.
I don't need to torture myself mentally to unlearn all the social constructs and mannerisms because I'm certain I'll fail at them so why even bother?
So I don't have to feel seething contempt as a barrier against failure when it comes to my little habits and quirks, like the way I tug my hair when I'm nervous or excited or happy.
And I can dress up to be pretty, because I'm not building shields against making fashion mistakes.
And maybe I'll just let myself wear a skirt I think is pretty rather than not bother to buy it because it surely couldn't look good on me and who wants to make that mistake.
I can wear what I want and not just surrender to jeans and a t-shirt because I'm too gross to wear anything else.
And I still won't care what other people think.
But I won't curl up into a ball despite this, convinced that I'm despised before I have evidence, waiting for a pendulum to knock me out my seat.
I'll simply continue on being me.
And I'll accept that people want to show me affection.
And I'll accept that people care.
And I'll believe them when they express it.
And I will show the world my stories and my art, rather than remain convinced that they will all be hated and despised.
Why bother?, I used to say. Everyone will think they're horrible.
So what? What an adventure that will be to get as far as I can outside the lines.
And if people don't like my superheroes, so be it.
And if people don't like my horror stories, so be it.
And if people don't like me, their damn loss - not a damaging wave of hate in my own head.
And I will trip and fall.
And I will be stupid some days.
And I will spill things on myself - maybe even on-purpose, because I want to - and it will be TOTALLY AWESOME.
And I will sing, like I always do, without wondering when someone is going to tell me how awful my voice is and therefore always waiting to be silenced.
And I will express affection toward others, like I always do, but without thinking in my head that I'll be hated in return.
And I will be as gracious with gifts as I always have been.
But I won't let myself get depressed wondering if the gift was given with genuine affection or out of obligation.
I'll just smile and say how much I appreciated it.
And I will not expect even my closest friends to hate me in advance of whatever I say or do.
And I will come at them with positivity in the hopes it will be returned, instead of anticipating total failure.
And I will ask my friends to be proud of me and to truly care about me.
And I will wave my arms like a maniac when I listen to music I love, like I always have and always will ... but I won't pay a mind toward cringing at my shoulders like I'm about to be struck from behind.
And I will sway to whatever music suits me like I always have, but I won't grit my teeth waiting to hear someone yell that my taste in music is horrible.
And I will do all of this with the abandon of someone who isn't waiting for the hammer to fall.
And I will dance when I want.
And I will dance how I want.
And I will dance in any way I want.
And I will trust myself.
And I will forgive myself.
And I will love myself.
I'm know I'm not Cat. I'm Dee. I'm Den. I'm Dennis. I'm Dee Emm Elms and Dennis Michael Elms, and all the other variations of my name, both the ones I've been given and the ones I've given myself. And I'm proud of every part of me, not ashamed.
But, despite and because of all of this - I am a Cat. And, well, we Cats ...
... we always somehow manage to land on our feet.
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