Anonyplause Posted September 14, 2008 Report Share Posted September 14, 2008 I have no real idea why I'm posting this. I really don't. No one can really help me with my problems; not anyone on the internet anyway. There appears to be something about these anonymous "tell-alls" that seem to be soothing in a way. (I recently emailed the Samaritans, and must say that the writing of the email helped much more than the response I received.)So, with that poor excuse, I suppose I'll begin. Feel free to delete, chop, or incinerate this post as you see fit; there's very little reason to clutter up your boards with nonsense.Let's start with me, I guess. I'm a twenty year old male majoring in Music Composition at college. A daring choice, I suppose, but there's little else that I can really do. My financial crux depends on that particular major.And I do enjoy it. Well, that's an understatement. I love music. I love writing it, playing it, studying it. But I'm never going to be a successful composer."But, Anonyplause," as I'm sure the reader would say, "How would you know your future? You're not psychic!"It's because I don't have what it takes to be a musician.Talent? Well, sure. I suppose there's some of that, considering the bulk of my college costs are paid solely by music talent scholarships. But it has to do with me. As long as I end up with my personality, my social aloofness, my insecurities with the world, talent will never amount to anything.And I want to get rid of those things, but every time I try, it only gets worse, or backfires. As if there's something ingrained in me that doesn't want me to succeed; that's mocking every attempt I make to go further in the world in a mocking voice. A continuous "Nah nah-nah boo boo" always hanging over my head.I suppose I should be giving examples so you can understand more, hmm? Let's begin with my social relations then. Something's wrong with me. How do I know? I can always read it in the way people talk to me. There's always a sort of trepidation, or it will seem like they want to dumb down everything they say to me, or there will be some sort of sly smirk on their face as they're clearly having fun at my expense laughing about this thing that's clearly written on my body that everyone can see about me. What is it? What is it that everyone seems to think is so amusing, and why won't they tell me?And then, I tell myself, "You're over-reacting," or, "You're reading to much into it," or even the wonderful, "You're just acting crazy." And then that one leads my mind down roads I really don't want to think about.You see, I feel myself reading the tiniest little bits of body language, sleights of hand, even small changes in tonal inflections as meaningful, as if I can really tell someone's true intentions from that tiny waiver in their voice as they say some bland and non-offensive word. It's almost a gut reaction. I tell myself to stop believing that's what was meant, but it's almost as if I can only bring myself to halfway give up the notion.For example, certain people that I know, but don't really talk to on a regular occasion will pass by me and say, "Hello," or some other variant. Do you know what my usual first reaction is? Not returning the greeting, as I'm sure most others do, but checking the person to see if they really actually want to talk to me or not. As a result, I rarely actually say much of anything back. Why am I doing this? You'd think I would be able to just turn it off; reach around my back and turn of the switch labeled "stupid" and everything should be fine. But I can't.But, it gets worse. My sophomore year in college, I became very irate and angry at my suitemates (to clarify, the people that have a dorm room besides yours, but share the same bathroom.) because they would constantly be very loud, would enter the bathroom and yell to no one in particular about how bad the conditions in the bathroom were (but never actually taking any attempts to discuss cleaning the bathroom or doing anything to help the situation except complain) and would throw basketballs against the wall at length (They were on the basketball team, you see, so clearly they had to express that to EVERYONE by throwing said balls against the wall. :-/ ) And so, I had recently just gotten through a rough patch with my roommate, which is a whole 'nother story. In a nutshell, he would leave the door wide open (not unlocked, not even slightly ajar, but wide open) and then go to do laundry (which was in a completely different building, 15 min. minimum before you would return to the room.) go to lunch, and worst of all, go to hour or hour and a half long classes while NO ONE was in the room. He did this because it was hot, which I sympathized with, but it takes less than a minute to slip into the dorms, walk into an empty, unlocked room, grab a laptop, and walk out undetected. I was worried about my things, so I complained about it enough and he decided to move out, making me feel like I was doing something wrong, which in turn made me very angry. I'm sure that's what agitated what was about to come.So one day, I was feeling in particularly bad spirits, so I came home and turned on music without my headphones. I rarely do this, but keep in mind that people usually turn on music extremely loud in these dorms well after quiet hours (I was doing this before quiet hours. I wouldn't be that inconsiderate) including my suitemates who lived next door. Well, during a visit to the bathroom, I overheard my suitemates talking to each other. Apparently, I was "stupid" for playing my music at what was apparently such a ridiculous volume, and that's what sort of flipped the switch. I suppose I have some bad memories associated with the word, which I'll get to later, but I'll officially say that I "over-reacted."My method of revenge? Notecards. Notecards placed in the bathroom with silly little messages about how Benji was causing dogs across the world to commit suicide due to his heroism, or how Constantinople annoyed me because it was so hard to pronounce. I created a shrine to a toilet god and offered "offerings" and other completely ridiculous things. The bathroom would be littered with these notes. They called Crisis Prevention on me twice, though I never explained to them this was me "getting even."And then one day I thought about it. How in the world was that "getting even?" Well, they didn't go in the bathroom and scream about the conditions anymore. Instead, it was about how crazy their suitemate was. I suppose there was something about causing them distress to the point to where they decided to call someone that was appealing? At any rate, now that I'm out of the moment, I realize how bizarre and strange my behavior was. In fact, it doesn't even really make sense. I'm sure you're asking, "how does this relate to what you were saying before?"Well, ever since Crisis Prevention was called the second time, an acquaintance of mine, who also happened to be a Resident Assistant, began just randomly talking to me much more than usual. You see, the second time Crisis Prevention was called, the Head Resident of the dorm was involved as well. And me, with my... whatever you wanted to call it, immediately linked the two. And it still is going on to this day, but it's starting to seep into the rest of my life. It feels as if the bulk of my professors were told about this. Sometimes, like in my instrumental lessons or my composition lessons, it feels as if they are "holding back" on the criticisms, sometimes even out-and-out lying, to try to say things in a way to make sure that I don't "go crazy" again. And, even worse, it feels that when people invite me to things, they've been told about my "antisocial" behavior and that they need to extend a hand to help me. But, I would say worst of all, would be that I can't shake the sneaking suspicion that I was roomed with one of my roommates I'm living with this year (I've since moved out of the dorms into an apartment-like suite, but the Head Resident from those dorms are in control of these this year.) who also is friends with the Head Resident to "keep tabs" on me.And, of course, when he's speaking to me, it's as if he's walking on eggshells to make sure A.) He can get through whatever problem I can't see that everyone has fun with, and B.) To make sure that I don't have an episode like I did last year.That's ridiculous! I mean, that seriously sounds like the hilariously bad plot to some terrible movie. But then I stop laughing and realize that I'm living in it. The silver screen doesn't belong in real life.Oh yes, I guess I should explain my problem with the word "Stupid." Well, in high school, due to my lacking grades (in certain subjects) and lack of social adeptness, I would sit in dark walkways behind the school, or even at times just in the bathroom, writing the word "Stupid" on my arm with a pen. I'm not really sure why I did it; perhaps some form of relief? A more placid way of cutting?(cont.) Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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