Maybe She's Born With It, Maybe It's Industrial Waste

People talk a lot about the toxicity of men; the fragile male ego, toxic masculinity, learned brohavior (yeah that's right, as far as I know I'm the first person to ever say the word "brohavior" so you're welcome for that), and while these are all, honestly, important and genuine things to discuss, nobody ever really seems to discuss toxicity among women. At least not as loudly.

Like most things revolving girls, whether it's medical diagnoses or their reproductive rights, it often falls into one of two things: done without them, or done in spite of them. I know that growing up, I had autism. I don't mean that as in I no longer have it, it's still very much a part of me, but I was recognized by my teachers at least as to having it and those teachers told my parents, who would not listen under any circumstances. They brushed it aside; no, boys have autism, girls are just "quirky" and "weird". Article after article has been published, almost seemingly weekly at this point, regaling us with tales of how women with autism or are not neurotypical in some fashion or another are constantly mistreated by the medical industry and misdiagnosed. It's such a common occurrence at this point, that it's not even surprising anymore, and now just as regular to see a headline of as "the planet is dying". I have always had problems with crowds, lots of noise, bright lights, certain textures (though rarely with food, oddly enough) and more. But no, I was not autistic. I was just "that weird girl". But this isn't just about my autism, this is about far more than that; this is about how the reaction to my autism and the way I presented myself with no control led to extreme behavior in trying to control every single aspect of myself.

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Nobody taught me how to do makeup.

Now, there are millions of makeup tutorials online, and young girls can easily, without the help of their mothers, sisters, friends, aunts, whomever, can simply go to Youtube and find a makeup tutorial that effectively teaches them what they wish to convey on their face. This is a wonderful and welcome advancement, and I wish I had had access to this sort of thing when I was growing up. Because nobody taught me makeup, I had to learn to do it on my own, and because I had to learn to do it on my own, I am pretty damn terrible at it. Sure, I could now look up tutorials, but my attention span has been so shortened over its lifetime that I can barely manage to get through a single episode of something at this point. It's amazing I finish as many books a year that I do. Hell, it's amazing I'll finish writing this post! But even beyond that, I lack fine motor control in certain areas. I cannot tie my shoes. I am a 30 year old woman incapable of tying her own shoes. Part of my issue with makeup is simply the inability to control my motor skills well enough to apply it well enough to make me look...well...well enough?

And while I know there's a large backlash on makeup as well at this point, either because a lot of it is made unethically or is unhealthy for you or whatever valid reasons you may have, I still splatter it onto my face every single time I go out. Why? Because I need to be perfect. By not being neurotypical, by not even being believed of being neurotypical, it "tainted" me in the eyes of others, so I began to, instead, strive for perfection in the only way I knew how: outward appearance. Okay, my brain I cannot masterfully control, and alright, I simply lack the mental capacity and mental faculties to do a lot of things that almost everyone else deems easy, and yeah, this makes me look weird to people. But you know what I can control, at least to some degree? My appearance. And they say looks are all that matters. Looks are honestly your first impression. Whenever someone says "you only get to make one first impression", that impression generally stems from your appearance. Hence why, if you go to apply for a job and aren't white, you're much less likely to get that job, even if your qualifications are way better. It's just a fact.

So I started to strive for perfection appearance, and what I realized is this...it's not just my physical appearance anymore. I am not a person. Not in the classical sense of a person. I am now a concept of a person. I am ideals and morals and philosophical thoughts wearing a skin robe. Why? Because this is what the internet has made me. I'm not saying it does this to everyone, though it can do it to a lot of people, but this is what it did to me specifically.

You see, with the advent of social media, the ability to closely manipulate your appearance, both physical and the idea of who you are, became much easier. Now with the over abundance of plastic surgery apps and face change filters and the like, I can take a moderately decent photo of myself, plop it into one of these, fix the issues I don't like, and then add it to a blog post that I wrote about how I need to be perfect, as such.

Heavily filtered, no flaws, or at least as close to perfection as I was able to attain via an app. But it's not enough, no, you need the attitude. You need to be cheerful, helpful, kind, loving, and while I am genuinely those things, I'm also sick and sometimes mean and sometimes angry. Because I'm a human being. But I have filtered myself to a sterile watered down existence where anyone only sees the good. Anyone only sees the positive. Anyone only sees what I want them to.

And while I'm not in the slightest the first person to ever discuss this sort of topic, how the internet has turned us into humanphobic technobeings who are incapable of recognizing more than one emotion on a spectrum, and I'll be far from the last one to discuss it as well, this isn't so much about that topic specifically as it is about me in general. I didn't like who I used to be online. I used to make varying self harm statements on Facebook and reblog depressive quotes to Tumblr and I used to bombard chatrooms with my problems. So instead, I did something nobody else will admit to doing, even though they do it themselves every single second of every single day.

I rebranded.

I am not a person. I am an advertisement space, presenting an idea to you that you're willing enough to buy, at least, even for a short period of time.

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For the last four years, I've worked actively as hard, just in private, to fix my problems with myself.

I use my work for a lot of this, be it novel writing, or blog posting or cartooning or fictional podcasting, whatever the medium, whatever the outlet, I guarantee I have used it to some extent to try and better the things I don't like about me. But nobody sees that. Nobody sees it, because I keep it hidden. Sure, they see the work, but they likely think, "Wow, good thing she doesn't actually feel this suicidal" but buddy, here's a news flash, I do, like, every day. I'm just got enough self control to not act on it at least. My artistic endeavors, my entire career? Therapy. Therapy to better myself. I've tried real therapy, and it doesn't work for me. It might work for others, but it doesn't work for me, so I do what I do instead, and it's worked pretty well, but even then, there popped up yet another problem. I began to care far more about how people perceived me than how I actually am. The concept of me vs the reality of me are, not extremely far off, certainly, but definitely differing.

Because my online persona is so controlled, because I want to live and die by an audience, because I want to present myself as someone else, someone other than the person I am, the person I hate, the person I've actively been told time and time over for as long as I can remember that I was "wrong"...I decided that the online persona was much easier to manage. So I wear makeup and I use face apps and I post cutesy garbage to my social media. I'm still self deprecating, there's no stopping that. I'm still depressed too, because hey, that doesn't just go away! But I rebranded to an extent that is, at least from the market research that I can see, has tested extremely well. Now people find me relatable, enjoyable, approachable. It wasn't about makeup, it wasn't about social media, it was about ME. I am a selfish creature who pretends to be something other than that, but we ALL are, even if we SAY we aren't. Even if we deny it right down to our very core, we really are selfish, because by striving to attain an impossible perfection, we refuse to allow anyone to really know us.

I worry often that I am not a real person. And not in the sense of my dissociation, no, I mean I worry often that I am simply an amalgamation of characteristics and personality traits ripped from fictional characters that I aspire to be. Ones I find charming and enjoyable, ones that everyone seems to love. I often worry that I am more fictional character than real human at this point, because I've done this so long and so well that these things have now simply become a part of me. But are they me? I mean, if they're positive characteristics and personality traits, then what's the harm right? I guess none, really. But I wish I could've become a person without trying to be other people. I wish I could unlearn how to be this way, but I'm too old for that at this point, and this is much easier. But because I've done this, all of this, I've allowed only very few people to really, at my essence, know who I actually am, or who I assume I actually am. 

And if we're being frank, it's a lonely life to lead, honestly.

You can plaster yourself in makeup, you can use any face app you want, you can post whatever you need to whatever social media platform you subscribe to, be it Tik Tok or Twitter or Instagram. You can be an influencer, but think about who you're influencing and how you're influencing them. Is it negative? Positive? Is it healthy even for YOU? Nobody taught me how to do makeup. Nobody taught me how to live in a neurotypical world. Nobody taught me how to be a person.

So I made up a character who can do these things, and then I became that character.

Is it a lie? Is it reality? Does it matter?

Who cares.

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Yes, I am constantly there for people.

Yes I care about them. Yes, I tell people they can message me anytime of day with anything and I will do my best to help them or just hear them out. And a lot of people will say that isn't healthy, that I need to focus on me, but no. I need to do the exact opposite. Focusing on me is how I got into this mess. It's what got me into this trainwreck that I am now. I need to focus on other people. I need to focus on helping others not become me. My outfits in selfies are lies, my face is covered in lies, and underneath all of this personification of perfection sits a terrified little girl, alone, in a dark corner of the room, legs pulled to her chest, face buried in her knees, because she doesn't know who she is and she doesn't trust others to not tell her to be someone even worse.

And at this point, she's too scared to try herself.

I have to be perfect, in any way that I can, because the world itself is filled with enough imperfection. I am not a mermaid. I am just a fish with a very long tail who can't speak and doesn't do well outside her controlled environment. Yes, it's exhausting. Yes, it's unhealthy. Yes, it's not sustainable. But neither has anything else that I've tried either. At this point, my best hope is to find a good balance, and somehow, in some way, be happy with myself; the me I am, and the me people think I am.

I am not a bad person. I am not a good person. I'm barely a person.

But despite everyones continued efforts against me throughout my life, I'm trying to be, and I think that's a step in the right direction.

Wear makeup. Wear dresses. Wear pants. Get fucking diagnosed. Diagnose yourself. Be perfect. Be a mess.

Just don't be someone you aren't.