Plight of the Introvert: Overgiving

I have a tendency, in certain situations, to give too much, to the point that I neglect myself. Inevitably I wind up overcompensating and pulling into myself.

I did this when I was a leader at the youth group. I agreed, even volunteered, to do more and more. I wound up being the first person there and the last person to leave quite often, and I was only the help. I agreed to do lock-ins with the kids when I really didn't want to (meaning pulling an all-nighter after working all day and then having to go to work on no sleep), but I never said a word about my preference. Eventually, I got burnt out, and had to quit in order to take care of myself. I went full bore, then suddenly did nothing.

I learned what it means to really love someone and committed myself fully to my relationship, to the point that I was sacrificing sleep, personal interests, and pretty much always put her needs and wants before my own. I didn't change who I was, but I neglected my own desires, as well as my own physical needs. I think my outlook was healthy (sacrificing something as minor as video games is nothing in comparison to the one you love), but I went overboard with it. And when that relationship ended, I found myself not wanting to do anything for anyone else; I just wanted to be selfish.

Fortunately, I was aware of what I was doing the second time. I was able to keep myself from indulging in the selfishness, and I only withdrew a fraction of what I might have. I am aware of this tendency, so I am learning to cope with it. I am also learning when and where I need to hold back from giving myself entirely to something. It is still difficult, as my natural inclination is to neglect myself, but I am taking steps to be better all around. I have people I can talk to, I am removing myself from certain scenarios where this is an issue, and I am trying to maintain a more level head on both sides of the equation (and doing well so far).

I have an idea where a lot of this comes from. It isn't so much a people-pleaser problem, but that does factor in to a small degree. It's an issue of learning a subtle truth: Selflessness does NOT mean a complete disregard for self. I know this intellectually; the trick is learning to live it.

Depth Perception: The Argument

The argument drifts away, as though my consciousness has split into two different realities. I continue to argue, to scream and yell, and that is most definitely me, but then I am also here, inconceivably calm, looking in with the curious interest of a child trying to make sense of a face he has never seen yet acts as familiar and affectionate as those he sees regularly. It is as though I suddenly possess two consciousnesses functioning in tandem, united but distinct, conplimentaey but in opposition, two different perspectives coexisting simultaneously yet both distinctly me.

The glowing crimson thread pulsates from my chest with every venomous utterance, a twisting, constricting glow that emanates with an intensity which ought to be blinding. And with every burst of light, her end of the thread shifts from a dull blue to ever increasingly tainted with its own crimson, laced with the deepest, bleakest, brightest blends of black.

And then I hate myself with every fiber of my being. Even as that angry-me continues yelling, the calm-me becomes consumed with disgust and begins raging at the other. Yet here I think about both rationally, as if I were some third self looking on objectively. It's completely nonsensical, and yet a deep, intuitive comprehension nullifies all uncertainty. It's absurd, and it's insane, and it brings a sad realization:

It was getting pissed off at my ex-wife and losing my shit that saved me.

Writing 4: Making Weaknesses Into Strengths (Part 1?)

I have too many ideas, but I am starting to see that as a good thing.

In the past, constantly having new ideas meant either ignoring the new ideas in order to stick with what I was already writing, or else constantly shifting to new stories and never finishing anything. Neither is even remotely ideal.

Everything is about to change.

I met an artist with a strong desire to work in the comics industry, someone whose interests appear to align quite well with my own. We are working towards a project together, and in figuring out what we are going to do, the idea floodgates burst open wide.

Only now, it's a good thing. A great thing, even!

While I still have significant limitations (not the least of which that we haven't actually started work on our project yet), the story and world we will be working with grants me the freedom to so whatever I want. I have enough ideas to sustain this project for 50+ issues, and that is only with stuff I have in my mind at this moment; who knows where we will be a year from now.

I don't want to get too ambitious before leaving the gate, but the very things that have made writing difficult for me could prove to be great strengths in this medium.

This constant influx of ideas can keep this going indefinitely.

My inability to limit myself to small stories (a single idea can easily turn into a trilogy of novels and more if I don't actively battle to keep it small) can only be a good thing when creating an entire universe in which to play.

My frequently shifting focus can help keep the stories fresh, pushing the narrative in different directions and making for a diverse world.

To say I am excited and eager to get started is an understatement; I just need to not get ahead of myself in my enthusiasm.

Love Kills

(Disclaimer: Please do not take this- particularly the end- too literally and needlessly worry about me. This is partly how I process difficult emotions. I wrote what I wrote in keeping with the metaphor, and because the strength of the words conveys the difficulty of what I am wrestling with. I am okay, and will be)

They see it as some sort of dream; fairytale, fantastic, unforgettable. Every moment can defy the laws of physics, every problem miraculously surmountable. This ridiculous delusion only serves to heighten the terror of the truth...
Love kills.
It has been said that love is a hell of a drug, and they are sure as hell right about that. It will leave you strung out in desperation, a sad shell of your former self.
And you will love it.
For as much as love tears you apart, it strengthens you in that very same instant.
"I am nothing without her," but "I am everything with her."
"I would do anything for her," and then, "I will do anything for her."
It is the epitome of strength, and the totality of weakness. It is man at his greatest and at his worst.
Love forever fulfilled, and love unrequited.
"'tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all," but oh, "ignorance is bliss."
True love never ends, even if unreciprocated. What torment, what agony, to ever be thrust headlong into the heart of willing sacrifice and forge your all into anything-but-self only to be bound by the harshest of limitations: complete and utter absence of receipt.
True love can not be revoked, for that is the nature of love; it gives no thought to self even in the face of unbearable pain. Even if that love ever returns void, still it will persist, on into perpetuity.
Love is pain, willingly.
Love is agony, gladly.
Love kills, and I am not afraid to die. But sometimes... I am afraid to live.

Writing Styles 3: A Picture Replaces a Thousand Words

Old comics suck.

Well, okay, they don't suck, but they can be very difficult to read and enjoy.

The early days of comics- from the original Golden Age through to the renaissance of the Silver Age- introduced a wealth of new ideas (see: superheroes) and allowed imaginations to run wild in a manner which I believe they were never permitted before. But for all the originality and creativity, these were the early days of the medium, incorporating many limitations and unnecessary  stylistic methods that both show their age now, as well as create difficulties for the average reader to simply enjoy.

Comics have grown drastically in the 100-odd years they have been around, and unexpectedly so. But even more than printing methods and artistic improvements, I find myself affected by the growth of the writing. I have tried to read some older comics- usually books that are considered classic storylines- and could not get through them due to the writing presentation.

Just as I have difficulty with novels being overly descriptive (I'm looking at you, Tolkien!), so too can comics provide far too many words to describe something. This was far more common in the old days (though it can still happen in some modern books), but the difference between my frustration with this in prose and my disdain for it comics is that it is completely unnecessary in a visual medium.

I was reading an old Superman comic, and it felt like the author was writing a novel and simply put pictures to his words. Superman punched the bad guy, and a caption read, "Superman let loose with a strong right hook!" This is completely unnecessary, redundant at best, as you can already see it happening. A comic should rely on the images to tell as much of the story as the words. Actually, the artwork should do more of the telling, as you can tell a compelling story in visual formats without ever utilizing narration or dialogue.

The wrong way to have Superman use heat vision...

... and the right way.

Likewise, the wrong way to smash through a wall...

... and the right way to smash through a wall.
(Although I bet you didn't know that was what he was doing until you read this caption)

Older comics were notorious for over-explaining. It is forgivable, as the medium was new and developing, but just because I can forgive it does not mean I can easily enjoy it.