Monday, March 23, 2009
"It was as though they were speaking about me!" It is so trite and embarrassing to have the feeling that a song, or a passage of prose, so uncannily echoes your own situation and feelings that it was as though it were written by or about you. But of course it happens. And it looks totally stupid, or stupidly emo, to anyone else.
I have always identified with the depressive stylings of the Young Knives – thanks, 1.0, for transforming my life! – but there is a moment in their song 'Up All Night' that really resonates with me.
At least I smell nice
so come on and breathe me in
what's the point, what's the point, what's the point
what's the point, what's the point, what's the point
I often feel so despairing about my appearance that even trying to look good seems pointless, and smelling good is even more pointless because who cares about that anyway.
Also, I like to read the advice column in Salon, and there was one I read the other day that instantly leapt from the screen as being something I could have written myself:
I have always identified with the depressive stylings of the Young Knives – thanks, 1.0, for transforming my life! – but there is a moment in their song 'Up All Night' that really resonates with me.
At least I smell nice
so come on and breathe me in
what's the point, what's the point, what's the point
what's the point, what's the point, what's the point
I often feel so despairing about my appearance that even trying to look good seems pointless, and smelling good is even more pointless because who cares about that anyway.
Also, I like to read the advice column in Salon, and there was one I read the other day that instantly leapt from the screen as being something I could have written myself:
It's not just crying at little things, it's also not crying at big things, and realizing I am walking along in a bitter fury and not being able to think of a single thing that happened to instigate it.
My basic cognitive processing time has also plummeted. If someone says something to me, like "I had cucumber sandwiches for lunch," I squint in at the words like they are inexplicable ancient artifacts, and by the time I have remembered what a cucumber is they are already on a whole other food group.
But the worst is what happens when I find myself on the verge of any tiny moment of intimacy with someone, like a friend or a family member. When someone gets too close to me (and I seem to have a very low threshold for what constitutes "too close") I feel violent anxiety and the desperate need to get away. I also feel revulsion toward the other person. This hurts like hell, because at the same time as I am panicking, I am thinking, "I know I love the person and I know I probably actually need them."
