I Got Eaten by the Drama Monster

Dear Diary, 

Yesterday I learned how to stop my period by sheer power of will. It's a Christmas miracle! 

--Oh wait, wrong blog.

Ahem.

So I gotta start this out with a big fat "oops." I let my blog die just a little bit. Myself, too, for that matter. I don't have an excuse. If I cared more, I'd write more. Sure, I have a lot of other stuff to focus on (A LOT of other stuff), but the truth is I just don't love you anymore, Frank. It's not you, it's me. Wait. Who is Frank, you ask? Are you seeing someone else behind my back and getting us confused? Probably. I don't have time to sort out who is who. There are just these people... And they are just there... So I just go with it! I'm not a whore, I swear, I simply have a lot of love to give, please don't be angry!

Ok, I'm sorry, my weirdness just flared up. It keeps doing that lately. I've lost my mind just the tiniest bit in the past few weeks. No, I'm being serious here. I've lost my mind. My vision gets funky for no reason at random moments, like I am sleepy even though I'm not. I think about what it would be like to have a violent snap in public and understand why people do. And I can't feel time anymore. It's really freaky. I am constantly forgetting what age I am. I close my eyes and I can feel myself existing as a 7 year old child, as myself now, and as a middle aged adult and the whole spectrum. It's kind of cool but not so much because I never know what day it is anymore. They are all the same. It's a little problematic. But only a little. Because I stopped caring awhile ago. I'm not quite sure as to how this all happened, but I have some pretty good ideas as to why.

I don't know how to put this into "funny words," so I'll just be upfront. I've had a bit of a nervous breakdown recently. I've been bursting into tears randomly every day for the past three or four weeks. My body feels like an empty shell, I have no motivation to do anything, I stare at walls for hours at a time, I have given up trying to be an energetic, entertaining person or trying to talk to anyone at all. My cynicism is through the roof, the other day I ate an entire box of mac n' cheese, and for the first time 9 years I almost didn't make honor roll. Gasp. I know. I managed to pull it together and somehow got a bunch of grades I probably didn't deserve only because teachers seem to like me because I always show up to class so that helps. The point is: I've become really depressed. Pretty legitimately. I let myself get eaten by the drama monster. I write to you now from the belly of the beast.

Um, remember last August when I wrote this really long, personal blog about how depressed I was? Yea well, ok, in case you didn't --which is likely the case because it was ten-hundred miles long-- basically I was upset and that wasn't cool for a badass to be. So I said I was going to get better. And maybe I did for awhile but I'm not anymore. That is the fun thing about depression. It's like cancer. It goes into remission sometimes, but you are never really fully cured. Maybe I just haven't been writing enough self-depreciating blogs to make me feel better about myself, who knows? So here I am, trying to write another and maybe make my self feel a little bit better about life. It probably won't work. But that is also what they said about Dorito tacos (not really) and the atomic bomb (also not really) and look where we are now.

Things started to go downhill a couple of weeks ago.

First, I auditioned for this GoGo gig. (Heh, alliteration). I of course did not get it, seeing as I am a pale, pear shaped red head with no actual experience dancing professionally. It was an incredibly awkward experience of dancing for just one minute (only a minute! They asked all of us to dance for only a minute! That is just warming up for me!) in a random empty night club in the middle of the afternoon with only a few people watching. I was surrounded by multiple hot chicks talking about tan lines and going to the beach. Even though I tried my hardest to put on my "hot girl" disguise, I think they could still tell I was an alien and one of us was not like the others. It was uncomfortable.

Me in my "hot girl disguise"

So of course I did not get the gig. That wasn't what upset me. I didn't expect my first audition with a company that books for events like Coachella and EDC to hire me. It was prior to that, when I found out they were holding open auditions and I had to scramble to try and get head shots and material in for the audition. I freaked out for a couple days, got my roommate to shoot some "good looking" photos of myself, which I will now gratuitously post because hell, it isn't like anyone is going to get to see them otherwise. It was a stressful prep time in general.

That made my heart all nervous and fluttery for a little while, but I got it over with and everything was fine again. Then not long after, one day out of the blue I got this email. From Blizzard Entertainment. I didn't know why I got an email from one of the biggest, most well known and successful game companies of all time until I remembered that I applied for a quest writing and design internship there awhile ago. And they actually wanted to interview me. This also made my heart and all nervous and fluttery for awhile. I was so thrown off by the fact that maybe someone actually thought I had what it took to be a professional writer and belonged in a big, successful company that I freaked out, panicked, and so on and so forth. I didn't know why they chose me. Was it because they liked my weird writing and it made me stand out? Was it because of my job experience as a quest leader? Was it because I was a girl and they need to hire more of those? Who the hell knows. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know exactly what they would ask, but I did know what they might ask. I wrote lists and lists of potential questions and the answers I could give that would actually sound smart. I predicted they would ask about their games. I hadn't played any of their games since I was fifteen yeas old. D'oh.

So I ditched my pride and school work and started a WoW account, played through level 12 on at least three characters to get a feel for the game. I read the entire WoW world history online, as well as the complete plot synopsis for StarCraft. I jacked myself up on several espresso drinks and had the interview. It went ok. It was on the phone, so I was a little spastic. It was over in 30 minutes. They asked me about a lot of writing stuff. I was good at answering that. I dropped some Robert McKee references in there and they were impressed. They asked me about a lot of video game stuff. I was not good at answering that. At one point I said something along the lines of "I think the Zelda franchise works because people like to know what they are going to get." Of course that is true, but that is a terrible way to go about making games. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Two days passed and I got another email. A new team wanted to interview me. This team worked with Diablo III. They wanted me to complete a short writing test. I had barely ever even laid eyes on the Diablo franchise (I like video games, I really do, I swear!) but I of course took the offer anyway. I spent two days throwing out all my school work in the midst of finals in order to watch videos and play throughs and read as much game material as I could to get familiar enough with the game to write for it. When I felt I had enough information, I went at it. I wrote four times as much material as I turned in. I wanted to do the best job that I could. I did the interview around the same time. It went basically the same as the first one. I felt pretty good about it, but not great. I wanted the job, but I was afraid to want it too much, as if that would somehow prevent me from getting it. I kept waffling back and forth between "I'm totally qualified and would be amazing at this job and I am sure they know that too," and "Holy hell why would they ever even consider me?"It was not a fun few days.

One question in these interviews really confounded me though. "It seems like you are more of an artist and really involved with working on the visual side of story-telling. What made you apply for a writing internship?" Hm, good question. I ask myself this every day, except the opposite version. If I want to be a writer, what the hell am I doing in art school? I had a prepared answer for this. It is the same speech I give myself every day just to get myself out of bed and do stupid homework assignments where I have to sketch or "design" things. I hate designing things. Ugh. It is the same speech I repeat to myself every night, when I am exhausted and frustrated from doing work that I don't care about nor enjoy very much. I tried to give that speech, but I stumbled through the whole thing. I couldn't figure it out for some reason. I don't know, random interview man, I don't know!!! My life doesn't make any sense to me either!!

"I am in art school to understand the full process of film-making, animation in particular because I really enjoy the work created in that medium. I hope to one day go on to run a company of my own where I help produce and develop animated works, ranging from short web series to longer pieces after some time and hopefully even video games as well. I feel that if I experience the entire art-making process I will be better suited to work with others and guide them in their creations. I want to be the best leader I can be, after all. On top of that, writing is something I have always done, in school or not, and I can practice it on my own. I do not feel I need a degree that justifies that I know how to write, I just need to be able to write well. This is something I practice on a regular basis, so being in a school to motivate me to do the work is not as important as it is with art, where I have less drive to do it on my own." 

I say this every day. Why could I not say it then? 

It was not 12 hours after the final interview that I was informed I did not get the position. They probably didn't like all the fart jokes I wrote in the test. I also did a penis joke. They probably didn't like that either. (I was writing for The Scoundrel, ok? I thought he was supposed to be snarky!) But in all likelihood, they probably didn't feel I had enough passion for games and doubted my ability to fit in well with that aspect of the company. It's not that I don't like games, I just don't like playing them. I get angry and frustrated and turn even crankier than I normally am when I play them. It's not fun for anybody. I'd much rather watch someone else play and experience the story through that method. It's what made me so interested in story telling through games in the first place. But they never asked me about that.

Don't tell me this guy doesn't look like he could whip out a good penis joke though.

I cried when I found out about not getting the job. A lot. I cried all day. All through my classes (yea I was one of those girls that day), all the way up until I went to sleep. That isn't a very cool or badass thing to admit. But it is the truth. I was upset not only because something I desperately wanted (a real job, with real writing experience to give me real writer credentials) had been dangled in front of me and then snatched away, but because now I was not going to have the most epic summer ever. I was not going to meet hoards of awesome new people that I could be friends with, hang out with, and feel like a part of something with. All the hopes that had been rising in me of finally finding my niche in California had been dashed. And what was I stuck with? Admitting that this place and I are not exactly friends. We are more like frenemies-- like that time in 1st grade where this girl and I talked to each other at school and stuff but really hated each other so much that when the teacher wasn't looking while we were listening to a book on tape about Tarantulas at our station in the back of class, we sat there pinching each other. Each of us was trying to out-pinch the other, and we did it so hard we made each other bleed. That is me and California right now. We act nice but we don't play nice. We secretly hate each other.

That is when the depression started to creep over me again. I got admitted into a special portfolio entrance only stop motion master class being held at my school over the summer. It would require staying in California for 12 weeks to gruel away and animate puppets. It was a skill I wanted to learn for some strange reason, so I had applied knowing it was a good opportunity and that is what smart people do with good opportunities, but I didn't have faith that my uninspired school work would get me into the class. I never try very hard when drawing for class assignments, after all. Not many people ended up applying to the class however, so it did. And of course I would have been foolish to turn down the opportunity. I couldn't possibly be foolish. Smart girls aren't foolish. So here I am, stuck at school in California all summer. A place that in the past four months has made me feel altogether completely miserable. No really. When my plane landed in Orange County at the end of break last winter, I burst into tears. Nothing makes me more frustrated than living here. I actually like to sneak looks at pictures of Colorado sometimes and all these strange urges and desires well up inside of me when I look at them that make me uncomfortable. Y'know, like porn. Only with trees and rocks and mountains and stuff. Does that make me some sort of new kind of kinky?

What I truly wanted was to go home, where things are comfortable and safe and for the most part happy, at least compared to California anyway. I had a summer job waiting for me that is-- while very difficult and challenging-- rewarding and a lot of fun as well. Way better than any minimum wage retail crap I am going to find around here. I have actual friends back home that are willing to go out and do things with me, because even though I've tried here for a long time, nothing has changed. Last weekend in a last ditch effort to be a normal human being, I invited people out to an art festival with me and no one would come. They just wanted to stay home. And do art. What the actual fuck. So in the past few months I have just given up on trying to socialize at all and withdrawn completely. I try to talk to people as infrequently as I can now. I also have family in Colorado that will take care of me, a nice home with a bedroom all to myself to sleep in, and actual dates lined up. No, I kid you not, in the past few weeks, I have been flirted with and asked out by multiple (more than 2!) men, all of which live in Colorado. "Well if you were here I'd ask you out..." or "When you get here, I want to take you out." Etc, etc. Last time I was in town, the night I was leaving some cute guy I met literally said "If you lived here I would totally ask for your number." Do you know when the last time a guy hit on me like that? Never. Because shit like this doesn't happen to me. LIKE WHAT THE HELL COLORADO. Why are you doing this to me?? Why am I suddenly such a hot commodity...800 freaking miles away!?! Years of sexless and cynical and you only just keep waving it in my face. Thanks a freaking lot. Where are all the awesome cool guys in California, huh? No where to be found, because California has proven to be nothing but a steaming shit-pit of sitting in traffic and painful loneliness. The worst part is that some of these guys I actually really like, and I would seriously consider their offers. It makes me so angry, I could kick a puppy... Ok, no, not a puppy, I could never do that. Puppies are too cute. But I could kick a stuffed animal puppy. Or maybe something really hard and metal, because I am so strong and badass that I would totally just break it. And that would feel satisfying. (Maybe a robot puppy?)

...Stupid boys. They're so stupid. God how I hate them. (I have to blame them too, for some reason.)

All of this amidst the stress of finals during a full course load semester (as usual) and now the stress of this stupid new class that I guilted myself into taking (where we have 13 very opinionated and different types of people trying to put together one three minute story that they are all happy with and just talking about it makes my head hurt) has just made life...bleh. I mean, geez. Things are not going well. Did I mention my USB drive was wiped two weeks before finals? Life is just a bitch right now! My heart feels like it is being squeezed and is about to burst. I feel empty and useless and while I don't necessarily think things are totally hopeless for the rest of my life, I feel as if I am stuck in a very dark cave and I am going to be here for a long time. I am afraid I will waste away and it will completely destroy me during the next two years. Shouldn't there be an alternative? Apparently not! Apparently dark caves are good for getting jobs. Or building character. Or something. I dunno. That is what Calvin's dad would say. I keep wondering why I am in art school, why I am not in Colorado, and if I should just drop out and become a stripper. I could probably do pretty well. I already take my clothes off for money and love to dance! It'd be perfect. Except for the whole pale, pudgy belly thing. And that I don't like talking to strangers. Ugh. Ok, fine, scratch that, I couldn't be a stripper.

This picture is a metaphor for how skilled I would be if I were a stripper .

I just walk around and feel as if I don't belong here. This doesn't feel right. It never has. I've wanted it to work for so long that I think I've only made it worse. Writing about this doesn't feel like the funny or badass thing to do, but maybe that is why I AM writing about it. I don't know how to ask for help. I don't know how to express my sadness anymore. But I'm tired of asking those questions. I'm tired of feeling miserable, and part of me knows that has nothing to do with California or Colorado or where I live at all, that is just me and my problem with being able to connect with other people. I consulted with an owl outside my window one night. He confirmed it. No matter where I go, I will always feel a trace of this separation from the rest of the world. I've tried to do everything in my power to stop it. I started exercising, eating better, sleeping regularly. I've joined clubs and volunteer groups, I go to dance classes with the same girls almost every day in hopes of having a better social life! I've thrown myself into writing and doing more creative work, hoping those will distract me. I started writing this blog so i could make fun of myself and feel better. But nothing has truly conquered this drama monster. That ate me. Or that is me. I don't know anymore.

Mr. Owl, how many nights of crying yourself to sleep does it take to finally make a change in your life? 

I don't know where to turn at this point. I don't even know how to end this blog entry, because I am a little embarrassed to have written it. It's funny, you can gain so much physical strength in a relatively short amount of time if you just keep doing reps, practicing tricks, and showing up to class. But no matter how badly you want to be stronger emotionally, there is no clear path. That is surely the most difficult part of becoming a badass. I need a jedi or something to come teach me how to use and abuse my brain power. I'd start meditating, but I don't have the patience for that shit.

I'm sorry I was eaten by the drama monster. I am looking for a way out, but right now it's pretty dark. Soon I hope I can find something that will help me rip apart this beast so I can be out in the bright, beautiful sunny world again and write stupid funny things that make me an overall more important, contributing member of society, rather than just a whiny one. Ugh, god I hate myself.