Authenticity and Asshattery

I was told recently that I've become too "dark."  I don't know what the speaker was implying that I had become too "dark" for; was I now no longer eligible to wear a costume at Disney and pretend to be Snow White?  Did I no longer qualify for the Glee Club, the Lollipop Guild, or the Boosters?  Should I collapse under the pathos of it all and smear on the kohl as a card-carrying member of the Goth Brigade?

It hardly matters.  I know exactly what this person was getting at, however.  To be perfectly honest, I was actually kind of afraid of getting this message, but that's all been a part of what caused my decline.

I have decades of practice at being inauthentic.  I often find myself assuming the mannerisms, colloquialisms, and even the regional accents of the people around me.  I study people to determine what kind of person they like best, and I work very hard at becoming that kind of person, just so I can be liked -- maybe even loved.

I have not been authentic.  When my heart hurt, I didn't share it.  When my life sucked, I dressed it up in roses and paraded around like nothing was wrong.  All that toxicity doesn't leave the bloodstream just because you choose to not acknowledge it.  It backs up instead like raw sewage, and sooner or later the bilious nastiness of it will infect everything.  That's what happened to me last year.  I worked so hard at being a lovable person for so long that I ignored the rats and the ants and all the other signs that my picnic wasn't real.

2010 was hell.  I tried for the first half of it to still wear the brave face, to pretend like I was maintaining, and that was far, far from the truth.  Some wonderful things happened in 2010, but the number of awful things that happened sent me reeling and made it almost impossible to appreciate the good things, in the end.  I would never wish that hell on anyone -- not friend, not enemy, not soulless Vulcan, not perfect stranger, not willing sacrifice.

But one thing all of that taught me was that I truly do not care anymore what anyone thinks of me.  It doesn't matter, in the end.  People will either love me or they won't.  That's their business.  I have my list of the people I would really rather keep in the loved-ones camp, and I know how I feel about them, but I can't force anyone to love me, and I can't dress up my true self in inoffensive costumes just to make it easier on people.  I won't hold my tongue for an inordinately long time just so I don't seem like an ogre-slash-bitch-slash-meanie.  This is who I am; if this person is too dark for you, well, there are tons of sunshine-y people in the world -- take one of them, and leave me alone.  When I shine, it'll be from real, authentic joy.  When I sulk, it'll be from true, authentic pressure.

Just be sure that the next person you choose to be part of your Happy Days Parade isn't wearing a mask of their own.

Also, just so you know: here are the things that will make me sulky, maybe even stinging and violent:

• Disrespect.  I work hard to respect everyone I find intelligent, quirky, and in some way like me.  If you disrespect me, you are done in my world.
• Disrespect directed at my loved ones.  Like the first bullet point, but far more so.  At this stage, not only am I dark, but also courtesy breaks down, and my tongue becomes sharp and homicidal.
• The loss of a loved one, either by choice or not.  That's never fun.  Even if I cut someone from my flock for my own sake, it'll smart for a while.
• Writer's block -- or the Desert of the Soul.  This is actually the opening strains of the Aria of Madness; if I don't record the voices in my head on paper, they grow louder and louder until -- well, let's just not find out.
• Fear.  There are many things to fear, and I'm conquering all the ones I can, but I can't get rid of them all.
• Weakness.  You know, realizing I once again ate too much or took things too seriously.  My process is a steep hill, and climbing it is exhausting.
• Choice.  Sometimes it's good to wallow in your own darkness.  Well, for my kind of person it is, anyway.  

That's pretty much it.  Every other moment will be crammed to bursting with as much sunshine and good will and jolly laughter as I can manage without barfing over the asshattery of it.  No matter what mood you find me in, however, rest assured that, finally, it's real.