Today’s discussion: Complete authenticity.

When I was younger (so much younger than today. Ok, I’ll stop) I would analyze my behavior in relation to the group that I would be a part of, recognizing how I would change my persona to fit what I believed to be the most acceptable to that group.

As I experimented with social groups (this was a biproduct of my moving around as much as I did between the ages of 19 and 29) I kept and used the ability to analyze my behavior, but did away with changing my persona to fit these different groups. I strove for authenticity. For who the real Rachel was.

Anytime I noticed myself putting on a facade, I would pause–give myself those couple of seconds to poke at what I was about to do or say, make sure that I wasn’t being ‘fake’, and then I would move on. It’s odd, perhaps. But I think that over the past five years I have truly been able to reach into my core and project my feelings and ideas and opinions without the filter of the company I’m keeping.

Can I maintain that? I dunno. I do very well initially. It was more difficult to maintain that authenticity over a long period of time when I first began experimenting on myself.

Ok, and it makes me feel very self conscious talking about it. Because really, I used to be very fake. Very very very fake. The downside of this is that I can spot someone being fake easily. And yes, I consider it to be a downside because I remember what it was like being ‘that person’. I don’t know this person’s inner dreams, ideals, worries, no. But I know they’re putting forth a persona tailored to appease the group we’re in or, god forbid, me.

So, anyway. Why am I bringing all of this up? Because I’m anxious about how well I got on with this particular person. How I strove for and achieved authenticity, and that my core was what attracted. And so I worry that I’ll somehow sabotage all of this by trying to be something I’m not, but what I think will be pleasing to this person.

It’s about me zenning out on Elton John. And how I used to listen to this song so much as a kid. My mother was a huge (was–still is) fan of his, and I can remember being really young, and be-bopping to Crockadile Rock.

But this song– Hmm. It’s just…well, firstly, my brain doesn’t grep it on the same level as it may have been written. I’m rather plain and non-36 flavors in than it always makes me think about redemption. And loss. And success through pain.

And so I’m reading the lyrics, and my GOD, does it make me think of London-ass. The lyrics talk about being ‘roped’ into marriage–but someone saved him–saved him from being with the wrong person.

Hmm. Wonder who saved my life. Me, I guess?

)

Basically, my sleep schedule is fucked. The past … maybe 2 weeks. I’m screwed, because I’ve been missing important things with friends, shit that needed to get done isn’t. And I’ve got the potential of two job interviews this week–and I’m going to look like a dope fiend with huge bags under my eyes.

*sigh*

So the entertainment for tonight’s allnighter was ‘Requiem for a Dream’.

I think, up until about 6 minutes before I started watching this movie, I was convinced that I was the most fucked up person within my sphere of acknowledgment.

Thanks Hubert Selby Jr. for making me taste a slice of ‘normal’.

This movie was really good. I loved the filmmakers approach. The way it was made. The story… was dark. I mean, dark. And that’s not really even how dark it was. It was dark. Great insomniac material, eh? ;o)

Other than that–life is. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what my ‘plan’ is. I don’t know where I’ll be in five years. I’m not really positive I know where I’ll be in 5 months. I feel cut off (my own doing, I know and recognize that at least) and disassociated from.. not so much reality–but.. emotion. I’ve shut down.

I refuse to let anything in, except for the occasional good. But even that comes at a price. You can have people around you telling you what a fabulous person you are, and then that introspective portion of your mind clicks in and you’re wondering to yourself, “Who is it that they know? Who is it that I’m being–this person that so completely is not me. And why the hell are they interested in someone as fucked up as I am?”

Sounds depressing, doesn’t it? I dunno–I don’t feel it.

Plastic and fake. Crunchy outer shell. There’s a scary ass video out–some Celine Dion “I’m not dead yet, please let me sell another record” video and she looks absolutely terrifying. There’s something wrong with her face–it’s…just not right. You’ll have to see it to understand–especially the last 20 seconds of the video. Frightening. That outer shell that is her face–that’s sort of what I feel as though I’ve erected around me.

I dwell on the negative. I’ve thought about 30 times in the past 2 days, about a 2 second moment that happened the weekend before last.

I’m working on the script in fits and starts. I keep wondering if I ought to make it from the first two books, or have book two start out the film series–then combine book 1 and 3 for part two of the series–because book one and book two are fabulous stories–but about two completely different people/sets of people. With one recurring character that would/could tie them together.

This is where collaboration will be a blessing.