• Not Ashamed: Intense

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    I think intensity has some complications. As with other things on my Not Ashamed list, I’m not claiming that the things are all easy or good or whatever.

    For instance, a good percentage of the people I’ve thought of as intense in my life have also turned out to be drama-magnets. Nay, not drama magnets, but massive drama generators. And the worst of my bad romantic relationships were with people whose intensity I found attractive, until it turned out that they were too easily inclined towards darker emotions (or “thrilling” behaviours like stalking or abuse).

    And I suppose that one reason I get accused of flirting when I’m definitely not is that people are just so used to those who aren’t intense. I don’t want to spend time on small talk (I really loathe it) or with someone who isn’t interesting. Which means I don’t tend to go for light topics, and I try to pay attention to the person I’m talking to (sometimes just because I’m trying to figure out if I want to keep talking). So, you find yourself in the eye of my intense storm and you wonder…But, for 99.99% of you, you really shouldn’t.

    But I think of my intensity as quality. Condensed goodness. Fuel for my art. Not just for my art, but it’s also fuelling the fires behind my emotions, my devotions.

    I guess, if you’re used to only those who aren’t intense, maybe that can be frightening.

    I guess, if you’ve only interacted with intense people who turned out to be manufacturers of drama and chaos and unpleasantness, any intense person can be frightening.

    I guess, if it makes you have to look deeper in yourself because maybe now you wonder if you might also, buried in your core, have such intense emotions…or you look and see you can’t match mine (in romance or friendship or bandmate-ing) and you’re afraid telling me will hurt my feelings or make me angry, maybe that can be frightening.

    And I’m not going to judge you for preferring…less (nor assume that, in an objective sense, that is the same as lesser). There’s a world full of people for you, and I hope that you find the best non-intense friends and romantic partners and so forth.

    But I’m never going to be ashamed of being intense, and I’m going to treasure those few who can dig on my intensity…and those who have some of their own without going mental on me.

    I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and I’m a rather strong cup. But I’d drink me (and so would a few, delightful others).

    p.s. I balance out my intensi-tea with a propensity for silliness and an inclination to laugh. Call it my sugar, my milk, whatever it is makes your tea something more than bracing.

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in artist's life inspirations & influences not ashamed relationships

  • Not Ashamed: Precocious

    Posted on by amber 2 Comments

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    I was able to read at a bit of an early age. And one of the things that often happens to kids who read above their expected level is that their ability to read outstrips their vocabulary. Now, fortunately, I was able to figure out a lot of things from context. I quickly extended that skill to being able to figure what word likely meant when spoken, not just when printed.

    I used big words earlier than expected. I developed big thoughts earlier, and I was too young to know to keep my mouth shut (whether it was to protect someone’s pride or spare them a hard truth).

    So, little person…big thoughts without the usual, learned filters and social niceties…

    I heard the word “precocious” a lot. And I wasn’t really sure what it meant, but the tone and context let me know that it was a bad thing to be. And I was so used to working from context (and sort of loathing finding out what this horrible, shameful thing was that I was) that I didn’t bother to look the word up. I was going to just feel ashamed and try to figure out which thing I was doing that was “precocious” so that I could stop it. I could at least be smart enough to figure it out from context; that should balance out my shame, right? (Yeah, I know, pat wee-me on the head.)

    Just in case you have somehow never heard the word before, I’m just going to copy in a definition for you:

    precocious (adj.) unusually advanced or mature in development, especially mental development (example: a precocious child)

    Right. Do I even need to explain why I’m not at all ashamed of that label? If anything, I’m a bit ashamed that, in this adult world, I am certainly anything but precocious.

    And what I really want to say here is this: Yeah, a kid whose brainpower is ahead of their social skills (aka doesn’t know when not to speak smart truths that might upset adults) can be more difficult than your kid whose brain is like you’d expect. But don’t you ever shame them for that, not even just by saying “precocious” in a negative tone. Intelligence is a brilliant resource. You just help them develop the social skills or the sense to equal that brainpower.

    No worries, precocious kids. That brain could serve you well.

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in history not ashamed

  • Not Ashamed: Verbose

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    That I am verbose should not be a surprise to you, dear reader. Nor is it something I imagine you’d be wont to dispute. And I could only keep a straight face whilst denying it because I’ve been known to do some acting.

    When I’m having a conversation, I really do try to keep a handle on my verbosity, because I don’t want it to overwhelm the conversation.

    When I’m speaking from notes or when I write, I don’t strive for verbosity, and I do edit things more than once. But I will use as many (or as few) words as I think necessary to say what I need to say. I am a writer. I have written both creatively and in assorted business contexts and have been paid to do it. I’ve been praised for that work. So, yes, I think I’m somewhat okay at sorting out how much needs to be said to express my ideas.

    I have turned in papers, when I was at Uni, that were far shorter than classmates’ papers because I felt I’d adequately fulfilled the assignment in fewer words. And high marks on those papers suggest I was right.

    But in a world where it seems everyone expects communication to be kept to 140 characters or fewer, the fact that I happily go on for paragraphs or pages is regularly ill-received. I might be frustrated, but I’m definitely not ashamed.

    Most of my few closest friends have, at some point or other, engaged in massive emails or chats with me. And I love that my friends love words. And it seems we’ve all felt those big word exchanges were an awesome part of the relationship.

    And I have a soft spot in my heart for my guitarist who, among other things, once told me (after another bandmate complained about how long my emails were) that he knew I was careful with words and only saying what I thought needed to be said. Bless.

    The bottom line is that I’m not likely to stop or to apologise for being verbose…and you probably want to find someone else to communicate with if that’s a problem.

    (Though I’d guess some people think I’m actually too brusque in certain situations. Can’t win. Not even going to try. Still not apologising. Still not ashamed.)

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in not ashamed

  • Not Ashamed: Unconcerned with Acting my Age

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    I can’t even recall when I was first shamed for not acting my age. Sometimes it was for doing things that were culturally considered “too young” for my age. Sometimes it was for things that were culturally considered “too old” for my age. I’ve never seemed to get age right.

    The things that were “too old” weren’t as exciting as you might think. In fact, it was always for times I was “too serious” or my intellectual pursuits were above my expected level. Yes, really. Obviously, when balanced with the “too young” stuff (so that you know I didn’t forget being young), I find this particular one almost too ridiculous to even address and I’m certainly not going to feel ashamed of this.

    The “too young” stuff, of course, is a common one. “Act your age!” seems to be something most of us have heard at some point. Of course, most people eventually take that to heart. Even when it’s not reasonable and related to immature behaviours (like adults throwing tantrums and such things). Even when it’s not true to who they are. They change their clothing and hobbies and goals and so forth to fit what society has declared the correct ones for their age. (To be clear, if those new clothes and hobbies and goals are who you really are, I’m not criticising. I know adults who fit the grown up mould.)

    Here’s where I stand on the topic of societally mandated grown up-ness: As long as I fulfil my commitments (which includes paying my bills, so I’m not a drain on your precious society) and take care of “my people” (which includes my cat and other non-humans I might consider part of my circle), I’m adult enough. And I strive to make sure I have emotional maturity, but that has nothing to do with my hobbies, my appearance, etc. I doubt I shall ever be a grown up, and I’m just fine with that.

    Interesting note: Apparently, it’s common for females on the autism spectrum to have disregard for and confusion over age.

    I guess, if you want grown up friends, you’re probably going to want to look elsewhere, as I am entirely uninterested in giving up the magic and delights that have been declared “too young” for me. Especially as there appears to be no good reason for those things being relegated to kids and/or teens. I’m just glad I live now, when it seems there are more of us questioning at least some of what society has decided is not age-appropriate for adults. Glad that, as an artistic type, there’s more room for me to go off the popular, socially sanctioned script.

    Amber with nerf gun and stuffed hunting companions
    Don’t make us come for you. Adventure penguin and Hedgehog will get you!

    Man, those who get upset about me now are really going to hate it when I’m an old lady who hasn’t grown up, aren’t they? Unconcerned with acting my age, now and forever. Yay!

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in artist's life history not ashamed

  • Not Ashamed: Pacifist

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    Whilst it might seem a contradiction to my “violently angry” post of last week, I am a pacifist. And it hurts my heart that anyone would feel that pacifism is something to be ashamed of.

    My pacifism is not born of fear or weakness. It is not born of some delusion that all people are fluffy kittens. Nor, as you learned last week, is it born of a lack of violent inclinations.

    My pacifism is rooted in my idealism and in my oft-disappointed belief that we humans could do so much better. I believe in love and light, in peace and harmony. We really could do so much better…

    My pacifism is not restricted to physical violence; I also oppose emotional, spiritual, psychological, and sexual violence and warfare. And I believe that all violence begets violence.

    I believe that most violence (perhaps all) is born of other violence or of fear. That oppression is a form of violence.

    I believe that pacifism must extend to ourselves. That was the hardest one for me. But it’s also the one that we have the most power to apply. That’s the one that most helped me start being my own better self.

    I reluctantly try to live with the apparent fact that the world we’ve built includes people whose violent acts require physical responses. That oppression is sometimes only thrown off by violent acts. That we are unlikely to ever achieve a non-violent world.

    However, I also believe that violence is too frequently applied as an answer, pushing people deeper into the well of darkness from which their own violent behaviours originate. That we humans are too wont to follow our violent and angry impulses in our search for solutions.

    So I won’t apologise, and I won’t feel ashamed, for trying to be part of the peace, for trying to remove myself from the violence. That garbage is best left to fiction.

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in not ashamed

  • Not Ashamed: Violently Angry

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    I’d love to say that I no longer struggle with being violently angry, but at least it’s rarer. And, at this point, I think I can pinpoint some of the causes. Not all, but some.

    I’m pretty sure that, sometimes, this is related to be having some serious sensory or emotional overload. (Which ties back to some of the issues that come with my autism.)

    I’m pretty sure that, sometimes, this is related to me having a manic swing.

    I’m pretty sure that, sometimes, this is related to hormonal shifts.

    But there are also times when I can’t figure out the cause or the trigger. Sure, I can point to the thing that someone else said or did (or to the malfunctioning inanimate object), but it won’t make sense to me why it has sparked the level of anger it has.

    Futurama: Professor is pacing in a dome. Text: If anyone needs me, I'll be in the Angry Dome.
    I’m going to have one of these when I get filthy rich.

    Again, it’s rare-ish these days, relatively speaking. Not like when I was at uni and had to keep a box in the corner of the room just for me to kick to bits. I used to replace that box weekly—at least—after I’d kicked it so much that it was no longer structurally-sound enough to give me any satisfaction.

    These days, the emotion itself is rarer and I’m much better at suppressing it until I find an appropriate release (or until it seeps out into my dreams…which is actually just the worst, so I usually find another answer quickly).

    One of my favourite anger-related factoids, which I must have shared before: I read in a psychology journal that anger is a secondary emotion. When you feel anger, it’s there to cover a more vulnerable emotion. The start of me gaining control of my anger was that article. I’d get the anger and I’d make myself stop until I could find the cause. What raw, more vulnerable thing was I really feeling? Disappointment? Frustration? Fear? Failure? And even if it was something that I can now pin on, for instance, the way my autistic brain is wired, it helped.

    Since realising how important solitude is to me, I’ve also cut down on it. Partly, I believe, that’s helped cut down on the times I’m over-stimulated. Partly, it’s probably because there are fewer things to set me off when I’m alone.

    I don’t like shouting, and have pretty much managed to avoid that most the time. And I really am a fan of peace, so have done what I could to keep my anger—when it manifests as a physical urge—aimed at myself or at inanimate objects.

    But, really, I’m just trying to keep from going there. And, when I feel it coming on, to keep from escalating. I’m not ashamed that I feel violently angry sometimes, and I try not to do anything when it hits that will leave me feeling ashamed for other reasons.

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in not ashamed

  • Not Ashamed: Self Harming

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    (Trigger warning: self harm, depression)

    Like last week, I’m going to try to keep this shorter.

    I know I’m not the only one whose self harm behaviours (or at least the demons in my head that wail for them) can be triggered by reading about others’ behaviours.

    Sometimes, it was a drawn out loathing that pushed me. Purposeful. Others, it was a sudden burst. What I did varied based on which it was.

    Anger is a secondary emotion, one that masks more vulnerable things. So, when I say that it was often something that felt like anger that drove me…It would more accurately be described as severe disappointment in myself, frustration with myself, self-loathing, self-disgust…

    I was good at hiding it. I had good excuses and I favoured clothes that covered me completely and loads of jewellery. And I’m pretty confident that, whilst adults might have expected it just because I wore black, none of them actually knew or had reason to believe beyond going in for stereotypes. (For the record, oh you stereotypers, there were plenty of people who looked like me and didn’t self-harm. So, please check yourself.)

    I’m also very lucky that I have always felt sensitive, skin-wise, because it meant I was constantly moisturising. Unless you undress me, even now when I happily wear less complete coverage, you won’t find scars. (I mean, you will find scars, but not from the self harm. Even the one you’ll think is from that was done to me by someone else, but that’s another story.)

    I don’t want to talk about what I did. But I think, given the stereotypes, I want to talk about what it did for me. I didn’t do it for attention (which is why I covered it up). But it felt like an escape hatch, like it let things out of me that were too much for me to keep carrying. Like it was punishment I inflicted on myself because I deserved it. Like, with everyone and everything else hating me, this was me proving that I was the one who got to hurt me and that I could hurt me more than anyone else.

    And I feel like I also want to clarify that none of my friends encouraged the behaviour. Their responses ranged from just quietly accepting that I did it to voicing their concerns. Just in case some of you are thinking stereotype thoughts about my friends as well.

    It’s been years now. For a while, I felt horrible after I did it. Not immediately, but the next day. And then I got a bit worried the last spate of it because I didn’t feel at all bad about it after. I worried that the only thing that could stop me would be if I felt ashamed. But that didn’t really happen.

    So, here I am…not advocating self harm, hoping you don’t do it, but understanding if you do. And years “clean” of it (I won’t say how many because that’s a bit too personal). But not ashamed that I did it. I understand why I did and I feel sad for the parts of me that crave that.

    Put down your instruments of self-harm, my darlings. Wear your sleeves short and your head high. And when the urges come to put marks on yourself, put marks on paper instead.
    xxx

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in not ashamed

  • Fluffy Placeholder

    Posted on by amber Comment

    Yesterday, I clicked a link that landed me on this blog, on my blog, and about gave myself an anxiety attack with the first blog title I saw. (Which is the last post. Which I know is a past issue. So how must people feel who don’t know that when they see the title as soon as they get here?)

    And I realised it’s been a while since I really did anything but Not Ashamed posts. Not because I don’t have ideas, but because I’ve been really busy doing revisions on a book I’m writing (sci-fi, since that’s the first thing people ask about) and working on a poetry project and on Varnish and on another, secret-ish music project and so forth.

    But today is the day I take a rest before I do a quick edit pass on the book before handing it off to some readers. And I have loads and loads to do, but…I was in the shower and I kept thinking about how it felt to click over and see the previous blog title.

    So this is a fluffy placeholder to spare you that shock.

    And this is a fluffy placeholder to promise I’ve got less intense, though not necessarily all entirely frivolous, posts in mind. Some as not-intense as a post on what I mean when I say I like pretty boys or one after a “who do I look like” discussion or one on what I mean when I say I like glam rock and want to do a glam rock album or…well, listen, there’s a whole list.

    Playing with glam rock looks
    Glam albums need personas!

    And this is a fluffy placeholder because I know I have new readers and I wouldn’t want you to get the mistaken impression that I’m a totally serious person (or that I’m a grown up or anything like that). If you just see me here, you don’t probably see the silliness (side-by-side with plenty of political and social issue reposting, of course) that goes on on the Varnish Twitter or on my Tumblr. You don’t know that I’m a complete sucker for cat gifs or that I will spontaneously dance around dramatically to the least-serious of pop music sometimes. You don’t know that I’m lamenting the fact my favourite Really Bright Blue eye shadow is running low and has been discontinued and how am I going to get the sparkly oceany mermaid-drowning-in-stars look that I created and love so much? Or that, last round of revisions, I ate loads and loads of biscuit (aka cookie) dough because it was stupid hot here and I didn’t want to take time out from writing to figuring food. Or blah blah blah.

    Me in silly hats
    This is as grown up as I get most days…

    gif: cat jumps kid
    Okay, and here’s a cat gif I giggle at for minutes at a time.

    I’m plenty serious and intense, but I’m not all that all the time. And I promise that I’m working on posts other than the Not Ashamed ones. Those are just the ones on a schedule so that I more easily make myself make time for them around other stuff. Some of you prefer me serious…so I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Because I really, really want to write something more fun for me to write. I’m about to ruin the flow for you. Woohoo!


    📂This entry was posted in artist's life

  • Not Ashamed: Suicidal

    Posted on by amber 2 Comments

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    (Trigger warning: suicide, depression)

    This one…I’m going to keep it short.

    I can’t see any good that would come of me describing in great detail what I felt like when I was suicidal. I will just say that it’s not the same as feeling self-harm urges. For me, it was always an emotional and mental state that was despairing beyond anything I could believe existed when I wasn’t in the middle of feeling them. And it wasn’t just a brief moment. It would settle in…last long enough for me to decide that literally nothing could compensate for continuing to feel that way…and then long enough for me to purposefully consider and plan how I would do it.

    This was not the same as the moments I was emotionally overwhelmed and sobbingly asserted that I could not go on.

    And it could happen during times you might think I had everything to live for and no reason to want to die. The motivating emotion is not, at least for me, rational.

    I also can’t see what good would come of describing the ways I planned to do it. I don’t want to put ideas in anyone’s heads. But the uniting theme between them all was that I wanted to spare anyone having to clean up much mess.

    I did want to give my opinion about the assertion that suicide is selfish. I wish I could find the rather eloquent essay someone else wrote on the topic, because I’ve struggled with getting this bit just right. So, I’m settling for this: When someone you love is in the level of exquisite pain that would cause them to consider suicide, you’re the one who looks a right selfish twat when you self-righteously preach to them the idea that suicide is selfish. Try a little compassion instead.

    Now, I’m not suggesting anyone commit suicide. And I’m pretty sure my days plotting my own are over. So, don’t fret.

    But I remember the feeling. And I remember the sense of empowerment and relief when I made my plans and saw a way out. And my disappointment with myself every time I failed to make it happen.

    I’d love to go back in time and reassure younger-me that it was truly going to be okay with her to be alive someday…and I’m glad those days are over, but I am not ashamed to have felt what I felt.

    I’m proud of myself for the person I managed to be and the commitments and achievements I realised during that time, in spite of the things with which I was struggling.

    If you’re struggling with or plagued by suicidal thoughts, please get help. At least talk to a compassionate friend and try to believe them when they give you reasons to live.
    xxx

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in not ashamed

  • Not Ashamed: A friend to multiple people who dislike each other

    Posted on by amber Comment

    If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

    For the purpose of this topic, I’m using the word “friend” the way most people do.

    This might be the only item on my list of labels where the people communicating to me that I ought to feel ashamed are only my friends. Which makes sense, given the topic. After all, when the issue is that I’m a friend to multiple people who dislike each other, I imagine they’re taking it personally.

    I hope that none of my friends will take any insult from what I’m saying here. This certainly is all meant in love, not meant to be passive-aggressive (I’m saying just what I mean), and is, arguably, further proof of your quality and my loyalty. Got it? Good!

    In general, my friends tend to be strong, unique, passionate people. To me, in general, these are all positive traits. However, you can probably see that these are traits that might make them a little more inclined to disagreements with others (especially with others who share those traits) than you might see from those who are mellow and agreeable and just what you’d expect.

    Now take all these intense people (of which I think I’m one) and put them in group activities that are related to their passions. Or in romantic relationships. In an entirely non-judgemental way I’ll say that I don’t think one should be surprised when conflicts arise, including conflicts that people can’t or won’t resolve. And, so, there I am, with friends on opposite sides of a conflict.

    I want to pause a moment to clarify that, as far as I can tell, none of these conflicts involve sexual violence (I will definitely choose sides and end friendships in such cases) or hatreds like racism, homophobia, sexism, and the like. Any hatreds here are either hatred for personalities, controversial choices, or taste in media. Though the latter seems to have diminished as we’ve all grown up a bit. Heh.

    So, there I am, with friends fighting. Neither of them actually completely horrible people. Maybe they’ve been some kind of horrible to each other (especially in the case of romantic relationships), but they’ve been good to me. And the horrible they’ve been to each other doesn’t cross certain lines (the ones in the former paragraph and a few others that seem reasonable to me).

    I hate the unkindnesses they’ve done each other and I wish they hadn’t but…But I don’t cast off friendships easily, and sometimes I can see both sides of the issue. And, so, I take my time in deciding how their falling out informs my opinions of and relationships with each of them.

    I know that we want our friends on our side in things. That we love it when friends can support our dislike, can confirm that we have done the right thing or that we were entirely right in a disagreement, can be counted on to never invite someone we hate to their party. I also know that, given how nasty some people can be, we instinctively worry that the friends of our enemies will betray our trusts even if they are also our friends. I have trust issues. I totally get that.

    I’m sad over friends who felt their best decision was to walk away from me when I wouldn’t join them in walking away from another person.

    And I’m so grateful to friends who have trusted me, have known that I’m constantly striving for integrity and to keep their confidences.

    I value my intense, passionate, strong-willed, opinionated mates. And that is part of why I am not ashamed that I am a friend to people who dislike each other. It’s okay if our tastes in people are different. And I appreciate those of you who are my friends and who dislike other friends of mine but who never try to shame me for it. Thank you.

    Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).


    📂This entry was posted in not ashamed relationships