Certifiable

So I'm still kinda on the insanity bit and I'll tell you why. As my last post presented, I believe I may be out of my head. As I was bawling and writing, there was still a part of me that did a spell check before posting my thoughts to the world wide web. Seriously...spell check. So I'm a deranged lunatic who cares about proper spelling.

Really what I want to speak of though is not whether I am certifiable but what I am capable of. Not me specifically either, but humanity in general...which I suppose includes me to a certain extent. It surprises me what a person is capable of. Still. I know shocking that any kind of human depravity could shock anyone cuz it's all pretty much been done...to me mostly. The sheer amount of trauma we can cause in another persons life, especially the people we love. I guess if you're gonna destroy somebody, you better make it count. Shocking how able and willing we are to preserve our own meager world at the expense of someone else and theirs. I often, too often, put every ones needs above my own. To such degree that I end up the broken one to avoid the hurt in another. Not a lot of people feel or act in this way. A person does not nor will ever understand what types of scars they've left. Not sure if they want to imprint a series of negative images forever on a person or if it's completely unintentional and purely out of fear and loathing...those words are so intrinsically one. I don't want these imprints, these scars to never heal...to always be visible to those new to me and even those not so. I want to begin anew and take every individual as such-an individual and not connected to my past experience with tragedy. When something is over it's done. I feel no need to make myself feel better by making the other feel worse. I want to heal. I want to move on. I want to be new. That's why babies are so great. They smell funny and the smugness on their parents face makes me want to punch them so...but they do offer an important concept. I hate that all I do is hate. Even when I'm not hating I feel like I'm barely holding off a descent into this negative void I've grown so accustom to. No one should feel comfortable in this. I somehow can't seem to escape. I deny who I am to most but mostly myself. I want to be reborn, born again...I should become religious...those people are great at contented falseness.

"Insane in the Membrane..."

I believe I am insane. Why else would I have made the decisions I have all the while expecting something else...some other more favorable outcome? The problem is, insanity is not usually followed by emotion. So how far gone am I really? So far in fact that guilt and loathing have become a staple to me like cheese or chocolate. Or perhaps I'm not completely broken because i still maintain feelings that wouldn't ordinarily exist if I were truly mad. I live in a constant state of fear; Fear that I have created and than sustained and than perpetuated. Fear makes a person do crazy things...so maybe this path of insanity was paved with good intentions...nope...cannot even pretend that that's the truth(at the very least I can still tell the difference). This path I've strode with blinders and blinkers on, letting those of less madness pass on the left, was paved in selfish concern for only I. Afraid of how things would affect me. There is a point when taking care of yourself first, turns into a one women show and you are left standing on your path, that you chose I might add, cold and more frightened than ever before. I continue to choose poorly. All out of fear. Afraid of what others may think, or do, or say...or not. I've learnt that damaging others is only short term as the true damage permeates the "damager." The only time I've told the truth is when I've had to. When truth would no longer sit idly by and watch the carnage unfold. What good does speaking the truth do? Well, if you prevent the lies in the first place...a lot. I want to crawl from my skin, forget the awfulness that is me, or at least became me and never be known again. As anything. I am so lucky and yet so very undeserving. How did I get here? How is this what I've become? Pretend. Lie. Imagine better but never get past pretending. I want to stop pretending. I want to stop lying. I want to be everything I've imagined and more and yet I'm afraid. OF WHAT!!!!!????? I don't even know anymore. I've spent so long pretending that my existence doesn't quite seem real. Like even if I did exist, I don't. I've fabricated a life that never was or will ever be. People like the pretend me...I've learnt early on that people get along well with pretend Rhandi. She's smart. Cute. Well read. Funny when the mood allows. Entertaining and never stricken with the usual horridness that is a girl. Never emotional. Always calm and collected. A mystery to be unearthed. There's no mystery...just deceit and rot. A rotting pustule of slyness and regret. Welcome to the truth...the reality...the insanity...it's scarier than you thought.

A Repeat

I am once again questioning every choice I have ever made and every path I have ever strode upon. Why? Once again, someone very clever and becoming dear to me has brought to my attention that I have entered myself into a futile profession. Not in those words mind you, but he certainly brought up some very valid points...or were they? I, when growing up and performing in my back yard(whilst dictating my sisters every move), not once, not ever pontificated on the matters of money. Did I ever worry how I'd support myself? Did i ever wonder how others would see my choices and development? Did I ever think that somehow I was lacking in my choice of career, nay, passion while others had the "right" idea? Nope. I dreamt of stages lit with white light and my talents. I thought of roles that entertained the world and changed the hearts of a rare few deserving of such knowledge. Money was never on the radar of my hopes and goals. Was it just because of my youth that these thoughts never surfaced, or was it that money does not equate value. If you were a young lad growing up and relishing a life in a field as invasive as medicine, AND, you were not getting paid for it...would you still voluntarily enter into such a daunting choice? Of course reverence would come to those who chose this profession as with acting, but if the money were never a factor...would people still do the maniacally insane amount of work it takes to enter such a field? Sure you love what you do and you affect other people which inevitably aids in the world remembering you, but would you still do it? Is it wrong of me to want to get paid to do what I love? Is it almost an obscene idea to try and put money in the same sentence as what I love? Does money belong in a conversation about passion and involvement? Perhaps it is I who puts all the emphasis in the wrong avenue. I just feel pressure, from nearly perfect strangers apparently, to convince them of the benefits of being in the arts. I would love not to ever serve another human being again in any capacity other than to entertain. I would need money for that...payment of sorts...perhaps return to a time of mercantilism and receive an arm load of beans for a performance...magic ones of course, but it would be some recognition of sorts. The world would know I have purpose and my struggles would not go in vain. I long for the days of flitting bout my back yard, doing magic shows and Beach Boys air bands. I never worried about convincing anyone of anything...maybe cuz I didn't have to convince myself. So why am I so intent on making money such an integral part of what I love to do? Cuz everyone else does? Cuz i secretly do but refuse to admit it on principle? Or cuz a doctor wants to know, "Where do you go with this, exactly?" Why do I need to know where it goes? How will that help me lead a fulfilling and positive life? Am I only bothered by his valid questions because I feel like I am not accomplishing what I should be and am only deflecting so I don't end every night in tears with ice cream pouring from my eye sockets? Now I am off topic, I'm afraid. Anyways, the point is I long for a day when I could say to someone upon meeting them, "I am an actor" without hesitation and looking away sheepishly cuz I see the same old question rising in their throat and i'm embarrassed by my admission.

The Unicorn

It is brought to my attention on pretty much a daily basis that I have exceedingly far reaching expectations and standards when it comes to people I choose to care about. Is it though that I expect far too much or that people have become lazy, complacent, stubborn and provide far too little. Far too little effort, far too little of themselves and far too not fucking good enough. I want a man in my life who with his shiny, thick, and luxurious locks has the ability to sweep me off my feet at a moments notice, listen to me without hesitation and a glazed look to the eye(hey, I have interesting stuff to speak of), oozes confidence from every orifice, emanates maturity, stability and confidence, fears not the unknown and can stand beside me as an intellectual equal(if that's remotely possible). So all I want is everything I am in a dude...ahhh, the Unicorn. I don't think that's too much to ask. For those of you who don't ask for at least that, you're selling yourselves short. I declare as of this moment in space and time, that I shall never settle. I won't ignore potentially disastrous elements of a persons nature cuz "I like them". Nor will I attempt to rectify any personality traits I deem teeming with incongruity with my list above...you either have it or you don't. Why must we always be forced to choose one or the other? You can have the great guy but he has serious commitment, or stability, or financial, or maturity, or or or... issues? That's not so fucking great. I believe it is entirely possible to have it all. If I have the ability to look at myself, proclaim, hey...this is what's wrong with me so I am going to take great measures to fix it...why can no one else? How do you not see that you are totally fucked and should be alone to protect humanity from your inevitably fucked spawn? Lost people do not raise right offspring. Unless it's like eye color and the fucked gene can be somewhat repressed in like, oh I don't know, every other child. If you are fucked, you should be scarlet lettered. What right do you have to run around all willy nilly, making people fall in love with you and than announcing for all the world, "I AM FUBAR!" I want my unicorn and I will bide my time until the day comes when I can hop on that stupendous back side and ride him home to momma...who by the way, will instantly alert me to the fact that he's probably just an ass with a stick taped to his forehead.