Until last year, no one knew how I really feel about anything.
Most of my feelings are informed strongly by symptoms of borderline personality disorder. It makes me see in black and white. I seem to either care too much about something, or I don’t care at all. I’ve been told I’m too intense, and I’ve been told I’m heartless. My emotions also don’t seem to respond appropriately to my surroundings. I’m angry when I should be smiling, and I’m laughing when everyone else is sad.
Needless to say, I’m no stranger to getting weird looks. And BPD makes me extremely sensitive to that. So I’ve learned to conceal my true state of being because no one seems to get it. I hide in plain sight, mimicking the people around me just to be safe, so I don’t come off as an outsider.
And secrecy has always made me miserable.
I assume no one gets me because I don’t get them, and I cover up my experiences. But that’s an invalidating way to live. When do I get recognized for my genuine feelings if no one sees them? How can I be part of anyone else’s community when my face betrays my real opinions?
Why am I living like everything I feel is shameful?
Total uniqueness is lonely. There must be a way for me to express myself and not alienate everybody. Where’s the in-between?
And then I remembered one of my all-time favorite quotes, which comes from Joel Hodgson of Mystery Science Theater 3000 fame: “We never say, ‘Who’s gonna get this?’ We always say, ‘The right people will get this.’”
Everyone has a niche.
No matter what you do, whether you make a TV show about space puppets or you make the wrong comment to someone at school, there is a community out there who will understand and relate to you. You just have to find them.
So I made this blog. I share all of my most legitimate feelings here, no matter how dark or stigmatized they are, because I know those who are closed down to learning about mental instability can just ignore me, and that’s fine. Anyone I offend or disturb will just go about their lives without me. But for every thousand people who don’t get it, one person will.
There are seven million thousand people on this planet.
When I created Miss Misery, I was immediately rewarded for moving outside my comfort zone. Strangers send me thank you messages for revealing myself in a way to which they can relate. They, too, thought they were totally alone, and they find solace in seeing that they aren’t. All I had to do was project my voice loudly enough that someone with similar problems could hear.
Now I like to compare my Miss Misery micro-community to MST3K’s fanbase: we’re somewhat few in number, and our tastes don’t appeal to everyone. But we understand each other, and that matters.
That matters a lot.