Le sigh. Ah, me. It is one catastrophe to the next with this one, non?

My film group is shooting today. I am not there. I didn’t go. Because I was mad at them. And that was, so stupid.

Granted. I was mad at them because they had told me outright that they neither wanted or needed me there. This was during one of my recent smelly periods, so it’s not hard to imagine why. But it still hurt me and confirmed my suspicion that I had been frozen out of the group from the very beginning and that nobody gave a fuck what I said or did, and really wished I would just go.

Now I have thought this before about people who would categorically disagree on all fronts and had evidence to back up their claims. It’s a part of my depression. My mind interprets the lack of positive emphatic input that my consciousness experiences as a total lack of caring on the behalf of others. I have spent a lot of time in that mode and it’s not fun.

But usually,. the real cause is not the lack of input, it’s the insensitivity of the instrument. Plenty of people are out there, outside the Wall, caring about me and most definitely wanting me around, but none of it is getting through.

Not in this case, though. They literally told me there was no need for me to even show up. So all I technically refused to do was order pizza for them. I figured they could figure that shit out themselves.

This was a dumb, dumb, DUMB move. Now there are four future writers who will think of me as “difficult”, and that’s like the worst thing you cam be in show biz. I am going to have to work really hard to get back on their good side or my career might be sunk.

And while they did, indeed, say those hurtful things about not wanting or needing me around, I never argued my case or stood up for myself in any way. I never told them how bad I felt about being frozen out of everything or how much being told not to show up hurt me. I never turned on the charm to get them to want me there on shooting day.

I just passively accepted what they said, and then threw a fit and refused to do the one thing they left me, and now I feel like a total idiot.

I should have just showed up anyway. I had a chance to be there while a (short) movie was shot, and I blew it. I could have learned so much and had so much fun,.

But no, I got all pissy when I hadn’t even told people I was upset, and now I am the dumbest student at VFS.

Oh well. At least my writing is funny. Everyone agrees on that. I have the knack for writing comedy, and surely some day someone will be willing to pay me to bring the big laughs that bring the big bucks.

And I will get over it. So I fucked up. Nothing I can do about that now. All I can do is move on and try not to make the same mistake again. Try to remember that no matter how I feel, I need to be Mister Helpful And Cheerful if I want people to want to work with me.

And, you know, that it’s not fair or right for the first time people know you are upset is when you leave. People are not psychic, they can’t know what I do not express.

It took me a surprisingly long time to figure that out. I spent a lot of time hating and resenting people for not caring about me when they were supposed to, but the truth is that I was very, very good at hiding my pain and so I can’t go around blaming people for not seeing something I was an expert at hiding.

How could anyone have known that deep within a frozen snowbank in my heart lies the little boy who found his life so unbearable that at the age of 8, he willed himself to die.

Thank goodness that doesn’t work.

I think I was also hoping someone would see me and want to rescue me. I was that desperate for nurturing. But presumably, all the world saw was a fat kid lying in a snowbank. Weird, maybe, but certainly no emergency.

I feel like this conflict between needing nurturing and being unable to express it has had me in its grip for a very long time. I still desperately need it, too, but adults get a lot less of it than kids do.

And I don’t know how to erase that deficit. I don’t know how one gets that kind of nurturing outside of a hospital. That’s why Munchausen’s Syndrome always made perfect sense to me. A hospital is someplace where a bunch of people look after you, care about you., treat you like you are important, and all without you having to do a thing to earn it.

To a certain kind of broken person, that is very appealing.

People like me. That is why I am very afraid of ending up in the psych warn of a hospital. I would never have the willpower to leave. The transition from a sanctuary where I am taken care of to the real world where I will be expected to cope and be a normal member of society with a job, bills, rent, and all that jazz would be far too harsh. Better to stay out of that trap. If I am seriously ill, I will go to the hospital.  Even if it’s purely mental.

But the moment I go, I will be anxious to get out. Because I know the clock will be ticking on my will to leave.

And if I disappear down that particular rabbit hole, I will never come back.

I willtalk to you nice people again tomorrow.