crime and punishment
I’ve been wondering today how much of the behaviour I’m constantly complaining about here is a punishment meted out by the abusive voice in my head for the heinous crime of not feeling quite badly enough about myself or just thinking I might be allowed to feel better at some point. I made it to an
The current ongoing slide further into depression began two summers ago, I think, when I’d been going to the gym every day, eating good food and was involved in Enriching Activities. I was feeling relatively energetic and almost even happy with myself. Then, my brother called to explain about the Landmark thing he’d done and apologise for making my life hell and I picked up a book called Emotional Incest at the library, morbidly curious about what that meant, only to discover in horror that it pretty accurately described my relationship with my mother (it refers to a parent using a child for the emotional support they should be getting from another adult). I started bingeing on cinnamon rolls and doughnuts. At first, I still made myself go to the gym, even when it made me feel sick (all the better, as a punishment), but after I was surprised to realise that I hadn’t started gaining back all the weight I lost, my motivation faded away. Now along with being repulsed when I try on clothes and get out of breath from walking down to the basement and back up to my apartment, I have the added punishment of knowing it wasn’t all that hard to exercise and eat better, if only I weren’t so lazy.
The problem is I really don’t feel like I deserve anything good. And I’m not a good enough person to do anything well. I’m not sure how I managed to do well at school at home. Maybe the attempts at self-sabotage by not studying until the night before were enough, and I could always reassure myself that there were plenty of people doing better than me. It’s hard to reconcile being at
How am I supposed to change any of the things I don’t like about myself when I’m convinced that this (or worse) is what I deserve?
posted by Lucy @ 6:32 PM
26
comments
26 Comments:
Perhaps try to figure out why you deserve the sentence you've seemingly sentenced yourself to. How'd you reach the conclusion that what you don't like about yourself was precipiated solely by yourself? We all feel guilty, sure, about events in our past, but then I think it's important to recognize here is that even more important than the events is our framing or understanding thereof.
You're conceiving too strict a schism between the past and the present (or future--why not), believing that events in the past are not only in the past and so separate from present experience but, in fact, set in stone and so w/o possibility of change or alteration.
But then I don't think this view is too helpful, or productive, because it doesn't recognize that, really, our percpetion and understanding of the past is really about our understanding and sense of where we are in the present---not, in other words, as I think you suggest, as a direct consequence of what happened the past (one leads to another and anoher) but rather as a ever-changing product of our constant negotiations with the past in the present. In simpler terms: you've chosen, for whatever reason, to remember the past in a certain way, and, consequently, to attach a certain fate to that past.
Look backwards on your life and find the narratives that you've led you this conclusion. I'm sure you'll find that the decision to feel the way you do was precipiated by events (and people) largely outside the locus of your control, even as these events, at least presently, are seen precisely as events within your control and responsbility.
You need to realize is that you've control over your memories and specifically the interpreation thereof. Something or someone is negatively coloring your memories from the past. Just as a test, ask someone else, a friend, perhaps, maybe a close family member, to share some mutual memories with you. You'd be surprised as much by how much you converge as diverge in your recollections. You're not as terrible as you believe yourself to be Lucy, and you can change the past.
Sartre said hell is (being with) other people. I'm thinking that your hell is the conviction and belief that you not only don't deserve other people but, indeed, that you should be punished for thinking you do, since, ultimately, you don't believe they should suffer you and your company.
On the emotional incest thing, there is so much guilt involved in choosing to escape that role, in choosing to live your life for yourself instead of for your mother. When I realized that I was on the verge of making that choice, it precipitated by far the worst period of my life. It sounds like maybe that contact with your brother and the book made you realize that you were making that choice to live your own life -- and now you're punishing yourself for abandoning the role you were raised for.
I'm not sure exactly what nessie is trying to say, but I would heartily disagree with any suggestion that the problem is that you're perceiving the past negatively. If anything, I think it's likely that there IS a lot of negative stuff in your past that's extraordinarily painful to face. And you've been taught and taught to believe that the negativity is all in your head, rather than part of an objective evaluation of those experiences.
Hugs, Lucy. I've been there, where you are right now. And it was awful.
nessie, the last part of your comment is pretty accurate. I do feel like I should be punished for even daring to want some connection with other people. I've tried to figure out some narrative or explanation behind why I feel like this, but I'm not sure (have you done landmark? That seemed to be their focus). I know I could just decide I'm a worthwhile person after all, but first I have to stop thinking I don't deserve to think that. I've definitely been surprised at the conflicting version my brother has of certain memories. In general, though, I think Phantom is right - other people seem to have more negative memories of the same things than I do.
Phantom, I think that's what hit me so hard with that book. I didn't really think there was any problem with my mum confiding in me all the time, so reading the book made me reinterpret a whole lot of things. Same with my brother admitting how hard he tried to make me miserable, after I'd spent so long thinking I was imagining it and I should be more understanding.
I already felt very guilty about leaving home and moving so far away, so you'd think realising there was a valid reason for needing to detach a bit would make me feel better, but I just felt worse for blaming her.
How did you get through that time? Was there anything that helped?
Phantom, I think, after thinking over your comment, and especially your closing, that maybe we just have different ways in understanding ourselves and our relation to the world? Okay, say, for instance, that there is some objective past apart from us, which we could analyze and make sense of, and so come to an understanding of where we are now, of what happened in the past.
Even if we could do this, and I don't believe we can (?), I'm inclined to believe that the only relation we could or would have to that past is a subjective one, since what we're ultimately relating and understanding (IMHO) is simply what's happening (and has happened) 'in our head' (the experiences we remember, those not quite, etc.).
I mean, yeah, sure things happened, events happened, but, well, at least for me, we can't relate to these things except through our (recalled and myraid and conflicting) memories of them. And I guess I'm wanting to suggest that memories, recollections, by virtue of what they are, will always be subjective, even though the events they refer to objectively 'happened' at one point in the past. But then we can't experience the the objects of these memories objectively, since, well, they already happened, and because, well, even when they did happen, they were still subject to interpreation and mediation. We understood them, even at the moment they 'happened,' not in an objective vacuum (whatever that may be) but in
relation to other (similar?) experiences. But then this is just basic psych. schematism, you know? The way in which we make sense of the world and our experience(s) in it as in fact a lived or memorable experienes.
Does that make sense? Any 'objective evaluation of [one's] experiences,' of events in the past, is always going to tainted, in some respects, or at least fall short of objectivity, since (IMHO) what's under evaluation is not really even the past (whatever that would mean) but only and simply one's collected and fuzzy and scattered and conflated and reconstructed and. . . memory thereof.
So, what I was trying to say earlier, in brief, is that, yes, bad and negative things probably did occur in Lucy's past. But that, ultimately,
they have meaning or bearing or relevance on Lucy's being only through Lucy's recollections and memories of them, only through her understanding (and so her particular interpretation) of what happened in the past and of her perceived role/place within those recalled memories.
It is, I think, entirely up to Lucy to define how she chooses to relate to the past and so to her past self(s), how she chooses to remember it. That said, I don't pretend to know what happened, nor do I suggest anything so specific (or easy) as a remedy. What I am trying to say, though, and what I'm sure Lucy has heard a million times, is that her attitude and perspective is ultimately up to her and no one else but her. Those who were mean in the past? Sure, they deserve blame, or perhaps forgiveness, understanding, but, again, either way, the only way I believe she begin to relate to such real people and real experiences is in and through her head (or in her hands).
This is all another way of saying, I guess, that I don't believe
it's a very helpful suggestion to suggest the possibility of any kind of 'objective evaluation of [one's] experiences, and so of one's past, for then we are, I think, truly quite removed from our being in the world.
Lucy, I believe I know what you're going through. If it helps, and I don't know if it can or will, but the question you raise about punishment, manipulation, grace and redemption, have been pondered over at least since the time of Augustine. And we're still working them out.
This is just my opinion, and you may feel free to disagree, but I think you've a wonderful an thoughtful mind. You're also, I think, a caring and considerate human being. I'm sorry that these gifts don't bring you happiness or contentment, but, then again, perhaps this is understandable, as one consequence (out of several) of these gifts is the problem and fact of dealing with them (in the world around you). Keep writing,
Lucy, Oops, just now read your comment. (after my reflection on Phantom's helpful thoughts). I can relate to how you feel, and in many ways, well, I don't want to say that I'm 'where' you are, per se, as I think where you are is defined as much psychologically as philosophically, but that, rather, I think we share the same radical (albeit philosophical) perspective on our being in the world and so our being with others. I've not, by the way, read that text you mention. Perhaps you elaborate? What is its thesis, for instance, where do you find its relevance in relation to your present experiences? Oh, if you've not ever read Sartre (?), the ref. is from his play 'No Exit.' And with Sartre, well, it figures!
Lucy, I just want to say that something that really struck me about this post is how self aware you sound (whether or not you are "right" about your interpretation of your psychological motivations and states is not something I or maybe anyone but you can judge).
I think it's interesting that you are starting to "make sense" of where you are, what triggered the stage of depression you are in now, and what your ongoing motivations/patterns of behaviour are.
I think I vaguely remember a post from a while ago when you said your therapist had asked how long you had been feeling like you are now, and you couldn't really remember or decide. It sounds like you've made some progress since then.
I don't know how psychology works or what helps to bring people out of depression, but it seems to me that growing in understanding of your construction of yourself and what thoughts and feelings are linked to what behaviours must be at least a step on the way.
(((Lucy)))
Sorry you have to deal with all this. I can relate to a lot of this--at least, the feeling like I don't deserve good things and that sort of thinking. It's hard. I don't have good advice. But I just want to keep letting you know you're not alone in dealing with all this.
And...I know you know this, but EVERYONE at Prestigious U. pretty much thinks that, not only do they not belong, but that they are bound to screw it all up. My advisor--Mr. Super Big Name and dept. chair--has confessed that he feels the same way. I found that a little helpful. :)
nessie, I can see what you mean about it not being possible to objectively evaluate past experience, but I still think it's very helpful to gain some perspective by learning how other people view similar events. In particular, in cases where I tend to deny my interpretation of events, because it might reflect badly on someone else, it definitely helps to hear whether other people might agree with me. Reading that other people have responded to similar situations in a similar manner was enormously helpful in validating how I feel. I wouldn't have been reacting to the objective truth at the time, anyway, just my subjective experience of it, so I think it helps me, at least, to try to understand how I came to think the way I do. I know that it's up to me to change my perspective for the future, but I'm not at a point where I can do that yet. Maybe if I could figure out some explanation for how I got here that doesn't hinge on me being defective and solely to blame, I'd be able to accept that I might be allowed to not feel so bad.
I'm not sure I understand my own perspective on being in the world, so I'm not sure what the shared perspective you referred to is. Could you explain what you meant?
Styley, I don't really feel like I've made any progress. I could have dated the depression to the same point when I mentioned I was having trouble answering how long it had been going on, but there have been fluctuations since then, too, so I'm not sure it's been continuous since then. There are also points further back when I felt similarly depressed, but 2 years ago was the first time I thought maybe how I felt was actually bad enough to be diagnosably depressed. I've had various other theories about my behaviour and motivation, too. Maybe I'm just trying to minimise any progress because I'm not ready to change anything, though...
Luckybuzz, I know other people here feel similarly (I've been to a packed lecture on imposter syndrome here), but it's different because they're all actually brilliant and are just mistaken (including you; I'm sorry you have to deal with these feelings, too), whereas I really don't belong here :)
Lucy, thanks for writing; actually, what you say about verification is what I tried to say earlier (comparing mutually-shared memories with friends, close relatives). I don't think I was very clear in my earlier comment, but you're saying exactly what I was trying to say (we only know ourselves through our past, and we only know our past, really, or at least to get a fuller and more holistic sense of it, by discussing it with those whom we shared it with. Does that make sense?
About being in the world, I'd written a somewhat lengthy explanation but subsequently lost it to the void of the net. As such, I'll post tomorrow. The gist, though, of my comments, turns on the question of freedom, both ours and others, but then way in which we imagine ourselves imposing (and actually taking away) on this freedom, both ours and another's. If I can ask, do you have a background in philosophy or enjoy reading it? If you have, one way or another, have you encountered the writings of Derrida, for instance?
On your imposter syndrome: you make quite clear how intelligent you are (VERY) in the quality of your thinking and writing in these posts. (Hey, I have a PhD from one o' them prestigious universities, I should know. Of course, I never really belonged there myself, so my judgment is perhaps suspect.) Sometimes I think you're too smart for your own good. I'm no psychologist, but it seems to me that you HAVE figured out quite a bit about your past, and what has led to this depression, but that you (quite brilliantly) tend to throw up smoke and claim confusion, so as to "minimise your progress" and avoid having to "change anything." I have SO BEEN THERE, and in some ways am there right now, clinging to the depressed me in order not to face the new challenges of a more liberated me. Perhaps we take that next step only when we can't stand it any more.
Nessie, perhaps you should get your own blog so that you can meditate on these issues in an appropriate space?
Lucy, I think what helped me was finally giving myself permission to be really angry at my family members, particularly my mom. I'd been so trained to feel sorry for her suffering, and what had been done to her, that it was an enormous effort to realize that I had the right to be angry at what she had done to me.
Once I was able to feel that anger, my decision to emotionally distance myself from her seemed much more reasonable than it did when I was only allowing myself to be half-aware of my feelings and the wrongs I'd experienced.
But downside, though, was that it was really painful to feel those feelings. It's hard to accept that people who claim to love you and act with your best interest at heart are really acting out of their own implacable self-centeredness.
Hey Lucy, I just reread my comment above (and then read Phantom's thoughtful comment) and feel like a jerk for suggesting that you've already figured everything out. And then projecting my own smoke-blowing tendencies and very particular paralysis/fear of change on to you. I guess it's inevitable that we understand others' suffering in terms of our own experience, but in this case I think I was out of line. What I really want to say is that I'm on your side, and hope you can soon begin to be on your side too.
Nessie, I think we still have slight differences of opinion, but I'm not sure I'm following your explanation completely.
Cris, don't worry! Your comment was a little discomforting, but only because it was pretty accurate :) You're right that I've probably figured out more than I want to admit to (even to myself), because then I'd have to do something about it.
Phantom, I have huge problems with being angry in general. I don't think I've ever actually shown anger towards anyone other than my brothers (and rarely with my younger one). I'm not even sure how often I feel angry, because I never acknowledge it. I always just find some excuse why I shouldn't feel angry and I have myself convinced that I never get angry, but that's got to be wrong. I guess I'm still quite a long way from letting myself feel angry at my family...
Phantom, Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me, it's nice to read another's perspective. I think your advice is good, and I'll consider the possibility of getting an account, at some point in the future, as at present it's not something I believe I can personally invest in or otherwise tend to with the care and time I'd like to. Hope you can understand. If I can respond to your closing thoughts, I think you quite succinctly identify at least one possible source for Lucy's strugggles here.
To turn your thoughts around somewhat, what I think Lucy is responding to (and I'm referring most specifically to her last note to you), is the belief or suspicion that people who "claim to love [her] and accept [her] with [her] best interest at heart are [maybe] really acting out of their own . . . self-centeredness."
Which is not to say that you (or anyone else) has done this. That would be too easy, not to mention incorrect. Rather, and to pick up on Lucy's closing thoughts on her 'don't encourage me' post' and the thread of manipulation, I think hers is a quite distruct of the nature of friendship and particular the conditions in which it is offered.
From what I gather on the post mentioned above, I believe Lucy's broaching of manipulation arises out of the sense that those offering her help and solace are offering it for the wrong reasons, or offering it in such a way that, when really examined, finds its basis more in sympathy and pity, which Lucy is then going to question, inasmuch as she can't be sure that that sympathy and/or pity is not in fact just the effect of others feeling sorry for and so not a gesture of true love or friendship, which has as its basis, at least from Lucy's perspective, I think, not so much sympathy or pity, a sense of guilt, than that of the possibility of hospitality, being open to another just to be open (i.e., not out of guilt, compunction, nor even because it is the right thing to do, but simply because someone decided, of their volition, without any external influence, to be nice and offer friendshp).
That is, I believe one of Lucy's sticking points (and I feel odd referring to Lucy in the third person, so please forgive!) is the inability to know for certain that those who offer her their friendship do so because they really and truly want(ed) to and not because she somehow convinced or persuaded them to do so, persuaded them their not acting out of thier own interests when, perhaps, they really are.
But then, as Lucy's mentioned, I think these thoughts of distrust and suspicion end up making her feel bad, perhaps even worse than before, as she begins to question the character of a person who would actively question and be skeptical before the offering of another's friendship--even though, from her perspectic, this questioning is inevitable, is something that can't be resolved. We can ultimatley never know, no matter how much the other protests, whether their friendship is being offered simply for friendship and not as a consequence of being manipulated.
In fact, it seems (and what Lucy points out in mentioning the difficulty of accepting friendship (or accepting that another really likes her), the more someone protests and tries to let the other person know of the sincerity of their affection and friendship, the more that person risks doing just the opposite, alienating her, as she doesn't believe she's (or her friendship) is worthy of being fought for. And to the extent that she doesn't, she must come up with another reason to justify this person's perceived kindness and generosity of heart and mind.
If Lucy believes she's innately unworthy of another's affection and friendship, she's going to be skeptical, I think, and understandably so, inasmuch as she conceives (I think) such affection and friendship as something oppressive rather than loving---and oppressive, precisely because she doesn't believe she has the right to reciprocate and return the gesture, at least without not being phoney, for how can she be expected to reciprocate that which she doesn't believe she's worthy of in the first place?)
Nessie, I'm trying to be polite here. What I'm suggesting is that you are being somewhat troll-like, going on at great length on the issue that interests you, apparently unawares of the previous discussion and history of the relationship between Lucy and her family, or between Lucy and any of her commenters, for that matter.
I'm sorry to be harsh -- I would email you privately if you weren't posting anonymously. I'm sure you mean to be helpful. But your thoughts would perhaps be more appropriately expressed in a different forum, without using Lucy as the object of your speculation.
(Lucy, please delete this if it's inappropriate!)
nessie, I appreciate your concern and comments, but I'm a little uncomfortable being the subject of such detailed analysis, particularly, as you mentioned, in the third person :) I'm not sure if you had more to say, but feel free to email me, if you want.
I have a lot of thoughts, but won't go on and on. I notice myself that at times I feel some discomfort when someone who either doesn't have a blog or who has not previously commented on my blog comes in and explains to me who I am and what my motivations and issues are. I think blogs are tricky, and people can sometimes forget how very very vulnerable it leaves us when we are actually open and honest about things. My hunch is that you, Lucy, like me tend to not open up much (well, that I know from yer blog) to people in real life, and that can make opening up in a blog even more vulnerable. We have no way of seeing the other person, checking out perceptions, understanding motivations or intent, etc. Now, this can provide some comfort as well - and that's part of why I, at least, find writing/blogging easier than talking in-person.
The other thing I think is tricky is discussion of personal responsibility for depressive feelings and schemas. I think it is fairly clear to many (if not most) of us who struggle with depression that much of how we feel has something to do with us. Clearly how I think about things, how I react, how I interact, etc., has some predictive power in the etiology and maintenance of my depression. But, to say that our thinking about our pasts and the manner in which we do so can be depressogenic is a little overly simplistic.
Indeed, when someone is depressed, they tend to remember things in a mood-syntonic way. if I am depressed, I am more likely to remember all the things that are congruent with my mood. if I am happy, the same thing occurs. However, what we KNOW is that people who are depressed tend to remember and see things in a way that is far more reality based than non depressed people.
My theory of how therapy works (and as a shrink-in-training, I have seen it work many times now) is related NOT to changing how we think or feel. Rather, I believe that change occurs as we process how we think and feel in the presence of someone who cares and listens and pokes a little. Then, as we talk and feel accepted and cared about, the power of those difficult things lessens, thus freeing us up to both remember them and to not be controlled by them. There's more to it than just that -- but I think that is a large part of the power.
The final thing I want to broach is my concern that you (lucy) may take some of the comments to mean that you are perceived as manipulative. I'm not saying that is what they are saying - or that I even know you are taking them as such, rather that I might were I you. I think one thing I have seen over and over in my therapy clients (and myself) is that many of us develop skills or tendencies or behaviors that at one time were very very adaptive in order to help us get what we needed to survive or just be mostly okay. But often in adulthood, they are not so adaptive.
One thing that is really common is asking indirectly for what we need. I struggle with this a lot and have to constantly work hard to not do it. But what I know is that is isn't okay in my family (or my grad program) to be direct - to ask for what I need or to state a need. Rather, I have had to learn how to be skillful at getting people to meet those needs in other ways: indirectly.
I'm not saying you were indirect, Lucy. I'm just trying to say that behaviors arise for a reason. I think I have begun to not make sense any longer an have lost my trail of thought.
I hope these comments were okay.
I must say, I feel a little jealous that you have such wonderful defenders! :)
D'oh! Did I really say "trail" of thought?
must get sleep.
Thanks, Lucy, that's a nice gesture; and yes, I would like to, thanks again. Please accept my apologies, though, in the interim, for my analysis, an analysis which, I now fear, perhaps went a bit too far in its analysis (and so an analysis which I'll happily reign in, from here on out!). By the way, and just as a general query, would you consider yourself fond of the writings of Proust and/or Borges, or, and failing an approximite affinity with these particular writers, those writers and stylists of similar literary and philosophical tendencies and dispositions (or, perhaps, aspirations thereto)?
Phantom, That's alright, no offense taken! In looking over some of the comments, I see how they could be construed as 'trollish', even if read charitably (which, thank you, you've done, and for which I'm glad), but preciely in that same spirt of generosity, please understand, if you can, that they weren't and that I'm not?
If anything, and I know this may sound odd, if not entirely self-serving, yet not, I would hope, entirely implausible, especially given the epistles thus far (!), I think I'm sometimes too eager to befriend others, a gesture of affection which, though normally fine, becomes problematic with me, and problematic if only because of the way in which it sometimes (as here) has as its (unintended) consequence just its opposite intention, namely the depersonalization of that other person! (a tendency though, I've to say, and as Lucy noted, that I've progressively become more aware of, as for instance, in my own comment that I was, indeed, referring to Lucy in the third person!)
Some people are better at being nice to themselves, but I think we're all capable of being extremely bad to ourselves. I know at least a little of what it feels like to lame, undeserving, and self-destructive. I'm sorry you're in such a bad place in your life right now.
You know, Shrinkykitten got me thinking about something that's troubled me ever since I started reading/commenting on blogs last fall. As a non-blogger who mostly lurks (I comment on only 2 or 3 blogs), I've often felt like a voyeur of sorts, particularly when the blogs are very personal like yours. I kept reading, in your case, because I was immediately drawn in by your voice and your story, and found myself caring very much what would happen to you, and what you would say next. I comment mostly because I want to support you, but also partly, I realize, because I feel less like an invisible voyeur that way. I guess I just want to confess that I'm inhabiting my reader/sometime commenter role somewhat uncomfortably, and that the last thing I'd want is to creep you out.
I was thinking after I wrote my post that the point I was trying to make about new commenters or non-bloggers is that it is difficult or impossible to judge intentions and tone. If someone comes in and comments on a very personal post for their first comment, even if they have a blog - it is hard to know how to take it if it is even vaguely "challenging." Has that person been lurking for a long time and thus knows the backstory and complexities? Or have they just jumped in and made assertions based on assumptions?
If the commenter has no blog, there is absolutely no way to check up on them to see what the context of their commenting is.
I read and commented on blogs before I started my own, buut I became aware that without a blog of my own, no one would know how to take my comments. I think it's about mutuality and shared vulnerability.
I don't know that it is "creepy" per se - but it does, for me, really increase my sense of vulnerability. But, I think there is a way for non-bloggers and new commenters to comment and build an identity as a commenter without seeming voyeuristic by starting slowly and building trust and credibility, so to speak.
First of all, nobody here has been creepy, so don't worry!
My first experiences with online communities were all newsgroups and the etiquette of lurking/posting seemed to be that the first time you commented or posted, you would introduce yourself and saying a bit about how long you'd been lurking, how you found the group etc. Because each group forms a closed community, all the context is contained in one place and lurking is actually useful as a way to get a sense of the existing relationships and how the group works.
Some of the biggest misunderstandings and problems occurred when someone would cross-post a message to multiple newsgroups and people from different groups would end up replying to each other, each in the context of their home group. People would get very upset when someone tried to apply the rules of one group to another, or assumed the person they didn't know was a newbie.
It seems to me like the blogging world is more like the cross-posting situation, since each person has a slightly different set of blogs they read and comment on. Because there's no single common base, it's easier to miss out on context when visiting a new blog. I think it definitely helps, when encountering a new person, to be able to read their blog by way of introduction. Maybe having a blogger (or other) profile would be a way to provide some context, even without a blog attached.
The biggest problem with blogging is that information often isn't exchanged reciprocally. How do people deal with it in real life, when one has heard a lot of detailed information about the other, but they have never heard of the first person? My guess is that it would be pretty awkward to immediately launch into discussion of anything personal. With the people I know in real life who blog, I tend to let them tell me news again, even if I've read about it on their blog, because it feels awkward to know something without them directly telling me. Or I'll start by mentioning that I read their blog that day so they don't feel the initial worry of "how did she know that?"
I started commenting before I had a blog, but it did feel a bit intrusive. Of course, I still read a lot of blogs that I don't comment on. Mostly because it seems like there is a group of existing friends who comment and I would feel like a hanger-on trying to butt into the cool group. There are times that I'd like to say something, but I feel uncomfortable suddenly revealing that I've been reading silently all along. I guess I usually start by commenting on fairly generic posts and mentioning the fact that I've been reading for a while. As Shrinky said, it's usually a good idea to start slowly.
I don't want to scare off any lurkers I might have, of course - feel free to comment! (or just lurk) It'd be great if you could say hi and introduce yourself, though. I guess this is why they have delurking week, but there's no need to wait until then :)
Ah, but, Lucy, you've to remember, too, that all of the 'cool kids' apart of the 'cool group' were, at some point in time, and each one individually, as much an outsider to said 'cool' group as you now presently perceive yourself to be! Differences between yourself and other (perceived) members in a group is a difference, I think, ulitmately less between individual or particular people (although, certainly, it is this, one level!) than a simple difference in time, or one measured in time, as Shrinky nicely put it. Obvious point, perhaps, but then true nonetheless, no?
Your post got me thinking about cliques and specifically about the temporal nature of their formation, particulalry as this formation is understood from those perceived (by themselves) as outside or not-yet a member of the clique
(and before I move on, I should say that I recognize the pejorative connotations that abound in that term, connotations usually trafficked from our school experiences, but then I this is a good term nonetheless, inasmuch as I I think it nicely encapsulates the particularly proprietary (and territorial--why not?!) way in which we as social beings tend to demaracte those spaces of interactions between ourselves and others as, in fact, spaces of belonging and non-belonging, inclusion and exclusion (amorphous and oscillating categories, for sure, inasmuch as they are nothing if not temporal, with inclusion oft-times ( whether we want it to or not, and even whether we know it or not (!) becoming exclusion, and vice versa, whether it's our wish or not! But then I think (and precisely for these reasons) that these categories make sense, and make sense if only because of their resonation, and if only on a superficial level, with what we might undestand as the basis for forming cliques/groups in the first place--the wish and desire to belong or be involved in something larger than ourselves, to have an identity or sense of self that, though ultimately redounding upon ourself, is meaningful or otherwise productive as a sense of belonging, inasmuch as it finds its basis in something other than oneself, in something other than the (perceived) amorphousenss and fluctuations of the individual self (but, then again, I'm not sure we're ever just our 'individual selves,' but then that's anotehr route to pursue!)
All of which is just another way of saying, I guess, that think it's important to recognize that any perceived clique, at one point in time, was, of necessity, just one or two actual people (if only materially, as symbolically, as we know, any one person, and particularly any 'founding members' of a clique is a founding member precisely because they're already, a prioi, part of a clique; indeed, this membership in another's group is what often, I suspect, what provides the incentive and possibility, and so courage, to branch off into one's own group, attract others--?).
Ours is often the tendency to forget, I guess I want to say, and I'm not sure if I'm repeating myself (!), having not taken time to check, that that each and every memer of a clique was at some point not a member, becoming a member only gradually and over time. And to forget or not reocgnize that, even within those in a group or clique, and depending on size, but then I think all are vulnerable, size notwithsanding, there will be those feel they don't belong or no longer belong or are, as you put it, Lucy, hangers-on, just as often, consequently, as there'll be those who feel they 'do' belong, or who, and even when they're just . . . which can be really sad, I think! (more later, I think . . ).
But just as a rejoinder, and why I use the qualifier 'perceived' so many times, I also think, at least in my experinces, that there is (or can be) a huge difference in perception between what we might casually refers to as insiders/outsiders, in each group's respective understanding and perception of a ckique. i..e, the sense that there persist feelings of exclusion and outsiderness, even from those understood (either by outsiders or themselves) to be inside a group. Differences abound internally, even if, externally, from the passive position of a spectator, they somehow magically disappear . . .
Ah, but then such is, I think, precisely the seduction--but also sense of estrangement (?)--borne of our perception of a group or clique as in fact a group or clique: the risk of conceiving a a group as in fact and already a communal community, already formed, and, consequently, somehow complete or finished with its development or becoming, finished accepting 'members.'
Which is funny, of course, since we know, at least rationally, and even as such above scenarios do play out reality, that this is not the case with most (social and good-spirited!) groups and cliques, even though we, perhaps intuitevely, believe it is (fear of rejection, I'd say, would be culprit here).
(And, in some sense, could really never be, else it wouldn't have the necessary time to become or take on the appearance of a complete or formed group in the first place (i.e., when is a group actually a group, and, consequently, when is it not?)
Much more to say, but not sure where to go from here . . . again, though, I enjoyed reading your thoughts and your perspective. I especially like the confidence and certainty found in your most recent posts!! Is that Lucy still here?! Just as another note, I think the note on reciprocity is a good one, but I wonder if it couldn't be pushed even further?
I think, as you mentioned, that one of the differences between virtual and life and real life is the uncertain degree of reciprocity in the former. But I wonder if this formulation couldn't be extend out further, such that what's perhaps really at issue is the 1)uncertain reicprocity but then also the fact that, generally, via virtuality 2) it's an anonymous reciprocity? (or a reciprocicy from soemone legible and material only in our mind's eye? (excluding, of course, bloggers who actively know (or actually get to know) one another!
Well, would perhaps just be a different question, since, even when we meet other bloggers, I'm not sure just how easy it is to drop our blogger persona and, thereby, assume what some might refer to our our
real or normal or otherwise non-virtual personalities (whatever such a proposition would mean, as I think it's based on quite a reductive and utterly absurd understanding of human personality, even as I recognize the currency it holds in structuring our relations with other human personalities), even as we know, at least intuitevely, that our blogs aren't really 'us,' or are otherwise limited, and in so many ways, and despite their virtuality (or precisely because?) with just how much of 'ourselves' they/we can truly be said to embody in said virtuality.
But, over time, I'm curious to know: to what extent some of us begin to identify (and I don't just mean consciously) more with our virtual than our 'real' selves. Or, more precisely, and perhaps ironically (but, then again, perhaps not at all), the extent to which we begin to relate to (or desire to relate to?) our virtual self as in fact, and between the two, as in fact the more authentic or sincere or representative (less theatrical, say?) or embodied presentation, of what we would claim, at least generally, of our overall (and so 'true') persona(lity)?
(But, of course, even this thinking breaks down, and breaks down on several levels, depending, I guess,
on one's views on personal identity . . . I truly believe that it's impossible to really know another person. Indeed, I think, and to paraphase Wilde (?), that much of what passes as such is only and simply an imaginarized simulacrua thereof. But then this goes the way, too!
I'm thinking now about getting a blog of my own! Sorry to write so much! I'd say more, by way of explication (if not entirely explanation), if I didn't presently find myself without the creative energy to do! That said, Lucy, I'd enjoy the chance to read more of your thoughts on some of the subjects you broach above (i.e., communities and groups, cliques, senses of inclusion and exclusion, the ephermerality (for better or for worse) thereof. Or, alternatively, feel free to email me, if you'd like, at caspera23@yahoo.com :)
Lucy, I just read this post and I cannot believe that I've never thought about the way my mother treats me in the way you are describing. It is similarly too much information, too much emotional support, not being treated as a child, and I can see how it would be alarming to realize how wrong that is. I'm freaking out a bit myself, because while I knew that it could be difficult for me, I never thought that it was per se wrong.
I wish you could believe that you deserve all things good, but I can empathize with how hard it is to believe that. I wish I had more suggestions, but I can only offer a hope that you will believe that someday soon.
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