musing on illness, shame, and masks
Originally posted to my livejournal on August 20, 2004.
So tonight I don't feel well, and I know why. I haven't been sleeping well, I've been working nearly every day this week, and the strain is starting to get to me. It's so bad I'm seriously considering not leaving my house at all tomorrow. I'm not quite to the point of panicking about it, but I don't know what is going to happen when I try to step out the door, or even start to get ready. As an introvert I know I need alone recharging time, but that is just the beginning of what I am feeling now.
Tonight I have enough distance from what my body is feeling to try and analyze it, to think about things from a heightened perspective. Why should I fear going out? I will be seeing friends, family. People I should feel comfortable around. And I do, to an extent, but aside from Steve, there is really no one who gets to see the completely unmasked me. Even my parents don't- not because I don't feel comfortable showing it to them, but with things as they stand at home, I always try and put on a good face there and try to make everyone happy if possible. And when I go out with friends, there are so many others around, so many who expect something from me...or do they? Maybe I create those expectations, set them so high, and then try to meet them when no one else even cares. But I do know that if I go out tomorrow...if...when I go out tomorrow, I am going to do my hair. I am going to put on makeup. I am going to pay careful attention to what clothes I wear, what shoes, what jewelry. Skirt or pants? I will try on ten different items of each, and the same with tshirts, socks, shoes and maybe boots. Each variation will have different jewelry, necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings. The only constant will be my watch. Even my underwear might change if it's the wrong color or shows too much.
Mine is a carefully constructed mask. Of all the things about me that has changed since high school, or even since I left Etown, this is what has changed the most. I never used to be so concerned with my appearance. For a while, it was my weight that was the problem- I was ashamed of how I looked and did not want to draw attention to myself, so I wore drab clothing, hid behind faded jeans and baggy tshirts. I'm not entirely happy with my body now, but I am confident enough about it to dress myself in more flattering ways, wearing things that catch the eye. But I am still hiding behind my clothes. They still mask what I do not want seen, they just deflect in a different way. Instead of saying "don't look at me" I am saying, "look at me, but see only what I want you to." It is exhausting to live this way, and we all do it to a greater or lesser extent. Or perhaps that is my cynicism talking, assuming no one is exactly what they appear to be. But it is one of the base tenants of the overriding Western faith- that one's true self is something to be hidden. Adam and Eve gained self-awareness, knowledge of who and what they were, and they were ashamed. The first thing they do is hide themselves, clothe their physical bodies.
Maybe this is TMI, but Steve and I are hanging around our apartment naked, and it has me thinking about conceptions of propriety and shame. Steve said to me he would rather just be naked all of the time and not have to deal with clothes unless he was cold. But is that entirely true? Maybe for him it is. I know I am not physically comfortable being entirely naked all of the time, and I would never be able to just be naked around other people. I've gotten over my fear of disrobing at the gym, but it took me a while to do so, and I'm constantly thinking about it while I change my clothes. It is just my body (just?), but it is all I have to show to the world, my final layer before whatever it is that makes up my conscious self.
I was reading a book on my lunch break today about the concept of the Double in Germanic and Scandanavian myth and folklore, and the author spent much of the intro and first chapter talking about medieval visionary literature- cases where the soul left the body and traversed elsewhere, or where dreams were considered visions, or where spirits visited someone in a vision or dream. So now I am thinking a lot about mind and body, about the soul, if there is one. It is so hard to say for sure "there is no soul" when something like a soul, something more than just flesh, has been at the core of every belief system on the planet. I know that our fear of death is what spawns the desire for something of ourselves to continue on past our physical demise, but might it not be so? I want to think that it is, and yet...I will never be able to come down with complete certainty on either side of the argument. It frustrates me to have no concrete answer, but so much of my life is full of nebulous abstractions lately that I shouldn't be surprised.
I think the concept of shame and the mask is tied in with mental illness. Either one fears, is inable to use properly, or simply can or will not use their mask, cannot function on that level, and they are considered mad. People who use theirs exceptionally well- particularly those for whom the masks become separate identities, are also considered mad. So where is the middle ground? Most of my friends who read my journal do not self-identify as "mad" or insane, or crazy, or any of those other adjectives that can be used to describe mental illness. So how do you all do it? How do you maintain the balance between the things hidden and the things shown? Or do you just show everything and hope/force people to deal with it? There are things I understand well from being on the unbalanced side, but I want to know both sides. I want to tell the story of us all, and while that may be an unachievable goal, there is so much I have yet to learn.
But who knows what I will do tomorrow? Not I. Not I.
COMMENT from Greymaiden, aka Jamie, my best friend:
I show all. . .or almost all. Some things just don't come up. I panic sometimes, in moments of intense intimacy. That doesn't come up over coffee. I mean, the subject and the discussion might, but the actual feeling, the ME I am when I am like that. . .not there. I don't feel like I'm hiding it though.
I realized early on that it is better to live openly than with any kind of shame about who I am. It's what gives me so much of the motive power that I have, the power to do the impossible things that other people just can't do because they are using so much of their energy to restrict themselves. There are people who don't like me (though suprisingly few). There are people who are frightened and intimidated by me (annoyingly many). There are people who think I'm awesome. There are people who worship the ground I walk on in a scary stalker like way.
Whatever. I am who I am. I like it better that way. I've recently begun experimenting with clothes and trying to be more stylish. (though I'm not very good at it) I don't think of it as trying to hide something, just expanding my presentations of myself. It's fun too.
I think what you're doing with your clothes and such is fun, and I do think you do it because it is fun, not just because you are insecure about presenting yourself. You don't have to walk around in a sack to prove to yourself that you're secure with who you are. This is what you do. . .it's what you studied to do. You manipulate the human body and other's perceptions of it with clothing. It's a handy talent to have, and though somewhat dishonest, the dishonesty hurts no one and pleases many. Plus, sometimes your clothes can reflect what you feel. Mine usually do. . .color, style, dark and gothy or cute and playful? Your clothes, contrary to hiding things about you, can also tell people things about you.
I fall back on what I always say. Nothing is fake. You can't possibly be anything that you are not. There is no such thing as that mask. You can only hide those things that you are. . .and you know what those are. The revelation of them can be hard, but there is a way.
I've found LJ to be the best of tools for full disclosure. Here my parents found out I was into BDSM. Here my friends learn that I am a caring compassionate person with a soul, who cries, a lot. Here my fear of abandonment lies open. I'm fortunate in that most people in my life read this journal. If that's not the case with you, write letters to the people who matter to you and spill your soul. It seems silly and ridiculous but once it's done it's done, and you've opened.
As for the insanity, I often have problems with the integrity of my personality. I am so open, and I am constantly adding to myself from the experiences of others, that I feel so expansive that I can hardly keep a boundary on who I am. I become a nexus of people, instead of a self contained individual. Then again, that is also my talent. . .double edged blades and all that.
And lots of people consider me mad until they know me better.
But Anis Nin said: "Everything but happiness is neurosis."
So remember that too.
REPLY BY MYSELF:
I'm not trying to argue that my mask is "fake," just that it isn't all that I am. It's what I choose to be, or present of myself, at any given moment. Sometimes, though, I present the opposite of what I am feeling inside- like when I have to smile and be nice to customers all day when what I want to do is scream and beat them about the head for being stupid. So while the smile is still part of me, in that moment it is a falseness, and eventually I am worn down and tired out by putting up that front.
In the same way, I know that my clothes tell people things about me, and that is the point. I am consciously manipulating what people see and think about me every time I get dressed. Yes, it's true that I will not wear clothes that I consider ugly or "not me," but within the range of clothes I do like are many different variations on the theme of "me." And they don't always reflect how I feel, either. Sometimes, or perhaps most of the time, they reflect the opposite. When I wear my dog collar choker, bondage pants and combat boots is often when I'm feeling most vulnerable and weak. So it's still a front, still an illusion, still just what I want people to see.
And that's why it's so nice to just be alone with Steve and drop all of it, and just be for a while without thinking about how I'm presenting myself. And it's why sometimes, often, I end up staying home instead of going out. I get too tired, too afraid of the drain, and I hold myself away from social situations.
It's my own little watered down version of social anxiety.
So tonight I don't feel well, and I know why. I haven't been sleeping well, I've been working nearly every day this week, and the strain is starting to get to me. It's so bad I'm seriously considering not leaving my house at all tomorrow. I'm not quite to the point of panicking about it, but I don't know what is going to happen when I try to step out the door, or even start to get ready. As an introvert I know I need alone recharging time, but that is just the beginning of what I am feeling now.
Tonight I have enough distance from what my body is feeling to try and analyze it, to think about things from a heightened perspective. Why should I fear going out? I will be seeing friends, family. People I should feel comfortable around. And I do, to an extent, but aside from Steve, there is really no one who gets to see the completely unmasked me. Even my parents don't- not because I don't feel comfortable showing it to them, but with things as they stand at home, I always try and put on a good face there and try to make everyone happy if possible. And when I go out with friends, there are so many others around, so many who expect something from me...or do they? Maybe I create those expectations, set them so high, and then try to meet them when no one else even cares. But I do know that if I go out tomorrow...if...when I go out tomorrow, I am going to do my hair. I am going to put on makeup. I am going to pay careful attention to what clothes I wear, what shoes, what jewelry. Skirt or pants? I will try on ten different items of each, and the same with tshirts, socks, shoes and maybe boots. Each variation will have different jewelry, necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings. The only constant will be my watch. Even my underwear might change if it's the wrong color or shows too much.
Mine is a carefully constructed mask. Of all the things about me that has changed since high school, or even since I left Etown, this is what has changed the most. I never used to be so concerned with my appearance. For a while, it was my weight that was the problem- I was ashamed of how I looked and did not want to draw attention to myself, so I wore drab clothing, hid behind faded jeans and baggy tshirts. I'm not entirely happy with my body now, but I am confident enough about it to dress myself in more flattering ways, wearing things that catch the eye. But I am still hiding behind my clothes. They still mask what I do not want seen, they just deflect in a different way. Instead of saying "don't look at me" I am saying, "look at me, but see only what I want you to." It is exhausting to live this way, and we all do it to a greater or lesser extent. Or perhaps that is my cynicism talking, assuming no one is exactly what they appear to be. But it is one of the base tenants of the overriding Western faith- that one's true self is something to be hidden. Adam and Eve gained self-awareness, knowledge of who and what they were, and they were ashamed. The first thing they do is hide themselves, clothe their physical bodies.
Maybe this is TMI, but Steve and I are hanging around our apartment naked, and it has me thinking about conceptions of propriety and shame. Steve said to me he would rather just be naked all of the time and not have to deal with clothes unless he was cold. But is that entirely true? Maybe for him it is. I know I am not physically comfortable being entirely naked all of the time, and I would never be able to just be naked around other people. I've gotten over my fear of disrobing at the gym, but it took me a while to do so, and I'm constantly thinking about it while I change my clothes. It is just my body (just?), but it is all I have to show to the world, my final layer before whatever it is that makes up my conscious self.
I was reading a book on my lunch break today about the concept of the Double in Germanic and Scandanavian myth and folklore, and the author spent much of the intro and first chapter talking about medieval visionary literature- cases where the soul left the body and traversed elsewhere, or where dreams were considered visions, or where spirits visited someone in a vision or dream. So now I am thinking a lot about mind and body, about the soul, if there is one. It is so hard to say for sure "there is no soul" when something like a soul, something more than just flesh, has been at the core of every belief system on the planet. I know that our fear of death is what spawns the desire for something of ourselves to continue on past our physical demise, but might it not be so? I want to think that it is, and yet...I will never be able to come down with complete certainty on either side of the argument. It frustrates me to have no concrete answer, but so much of my life is full of nebulous abstractions lately that I shouldn't be surprised.
I think the concept of shame and the mask is tied in with mental illness. Either one fears, is inable to use properly, or simply can or will not use their mask, cannot function on that level, and they are considered mad. People who use theirs exceptionally well- particularly those for whom the masks become separate identities, are also considered mad. So where is the middle ground? Most of my friends who read my journal do not self-identify as "mad" or insane, or crazy, or any of those other adjectives that can be used to describe mental illness. So how do you all do it? How do you maintain the balance between the things hidden and the things shown? Or do you just show everything and hope/force people to deal with it? There are things I understand well from being on the unbalanced side, but I want to know both sides. I want to tell the story of us all, and while that may be an unachievable goal, there is so much I have yet to learn.
But who knows what I will do tomorrow? Not I. Not I.
COMMENT from Greymaiden, aka Jamie, my best friend:
I show all. . .or almost all. Some things just don't come up. I panic sometimes, in moments of intense intimacy. That doesn't come up over coffee. I mean, the subject and the discussion might, but the actual feeling, the ME I am when I am like that. . .not there. I don't feel like I'm hiding it though.
I realized early on that it is better to live openly than with any kind of shame about who I am. It's what gives me so much of the motive power that I have, the power to do the impossible things that other people just can't do because they are using so much of their energy to restrict themselves. There are people who don't like me (though suprisingly few). There are people who are frightened and intimidated by me (annoyingly many). There are people who think I'm awesome. There are people who worship the ground I walk on in a scary stalker like way.
Whatever. I am who I am. I like it better that way. I've recently begun experimenting with clothes and trying to be more stylish. (though I'm not very good at it) I don't think of it as trying to hide something, just expanding my presentations of myself. It's fun too.
I think what you're doing with your clothes and such is fun, and I do think you do it because it is fun, not just because you are insecure about presenting yourself. You don't have to walk around in a sack to prove to yourself that you're secure with who you are. This is what you do. . .it's what you studied to do. You manipulate the human body and other's perceptions of it with clothing. It's a handy talent to have, and though somewhat dishonest, the dishonesty hurts no one and pleases many. Plus, sometimes your clothes can reflect what you feel. Mine usually do. . .color, style, dark and gothy or cute and playful? Your clothes, contrary to hiding things about you, can also tell people things about you.
I fall back on what I always say. Nothing is fake. You can't possibly be anything that you are not. There is no such thing as that mask. You can only hide those things that you are. . .and you know what those are. The revelation of them can be hard, but there is a way.
I've found LJ to be the best of tools for full disclosure. Here my parents found out I was into BDSM. Here my friends learn that I am a caring compassionate person with a soul, who cries, a lot. Here my fear of abandonment lies open. I'm fortunate in that most people in my life read this journal. If that's not the case with you, write letters to the people who matter to you and spill your soul. It seems silly and ridiculous but once it's done it's done, and you've opened.
As for the insanity, I often have problems with the integrity of my personality. I am so open, and I am constantly adding to myself from the experiences of others, that I feel so expansive that I can hardly keep a boundary on who I am. I become a nexus of people, instead of a self contained individual. Then again, that is also my talent. . .double edged blades and all that.
And lots of people consider me mad until they know me better.
But Anis Nin said: "Everything but happiness is neurosis."
So remember that too.
REPLY BY MYSELF:
I'm not trying to argue that my mask is "fake," just that it isn't all that I am. It's what I choose to be, or present of myself, at any given moment. Sometimes, though, I present the opposite of what I am feeling inside- like when I have to smile and be nice to customers all day when what I want to do is scream and beat them about the head for being stupid. So while the smile is still part of me, in that moment it is a falseness, and eventually I am worn down and tired out by putting up that front.
In the same way, I know that my clothes tell people things about me, and that is the point. I am consciously manipulating what people see and think about me every time I get dressed. Yes, it's true that I will not wear clothes that I consider ugly or "not me," but within the range of clothes I do like are many different variations on the theme of "me." And they don't always reflect how I feel, either. Sometimes, or perhaps most of the time, they reflect the opposite. When I wear my dog collar choker, bondage pants and combat boots is often when I'm feeling most vulnerable and weak. So it's still a front, still an illusion, still just what I want people to see.
And that's why it's so nice to just be alone with Steve and drop all of it, and just be for a while without thinking about how I'm presenting myself. And it's why sometimes, often, I end up staying home instead of going out. I get too tired, too afraid of the drain, and I hold myself away from social situations.
It's my own little watered down version of social anxiety.
posted by Carrie at 8:05 PM
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