There is something so fresh and clean about a new beginning. Like summer rain cooling your warm skin, erasing your worries.
But I am full of worries. As usual, many are about men.
Will I ever have a healthy relationship with the opposite gender? It’s not any one man, it’s not daddy issues–papa and I are very close, thank you, and it’s certainly not romance–the boyfriend and I are great, thanks for yet another very personal question.
It’s the other ones.
I first noticed this when reading my current screenplay. (Yes, I am a screenwriter. But that is another issue. For another day. Or at least 15 minutes later today). There are two boys, I say boys because they were 18 and 20, respectively, who are quite timid sexually. They fight off the advances of their amorous girlfriends. They are romantic and have ideas about morality, honor, and the IMPORTANCE of sex. There is one other male character. A strong, virile dude–the most popular, dreamiest guy in school–and he is a rapist.
Seriously. Guys are either sweet, but unable to fill your needs, or rapists. If a MAN wrote this script and ascribed the women to such cliche roles (i.e. the virgin and the whore), I would tear his shit to shreds. But, here I am, 23, on my sixth or seventh script, and I fall into such gender stereotypical.
It was an accident, of course. Or, more accurately, a sick attack from my subconscious. A sick attack reminding me that I view men two ways: rejectors* and aggressors. Because I grew up chubby and unpopular and unable to get any guys. I felt rejected, even if, in my high school way, I wasn’t legitimately putting myself out there. Even if, I had two boyfriends my sophomore year and made out with plenty more fellas. Before (and after) that year, I had no tail. No action. No one asking me to dances or trying to kiss me in a summer storm.
And now I have my boyfriend. The sweetest, greatest guy around who doesn’t have sex with me. And it’s not just him. It’s me. I’m so wrapped up in my fucking head that I can’t get into the moment. I put pressure on it and I get stressed and I have a terrible time.
I feel a constant state of rejection. I never believe men are interested in me, even when I think they are being aggressive. I’ve got some kind of weird self-confidence issues, clearly. But, somehow, I still manage to perceive the other half of men as aggressors. Yes, there are legitimate reasons, but they don’t explain such a skewed view. My nude modeling exposes me to lots of creeps on the internet. My past forays into domii exposed me to lots of creeps in real life–guys who were only interested in how far their hands could stray, and telling me bullshit lies about how they loved me. And I constantly meet with men who, upon learning I have a boyfriend, vanish into the ether.
Okay, that last one is a stretch, and another issue entirely But I am quite sick of meeting other (male) wannabe screen/TV writers (or, worse, producers) who give me unsolicited advice about my career (essentially telling me I am doing it all wrong), then imply that the only reason I’d ever get anywhere is that I’m a cute girl.
Tell me I’m a hopeless idiot, who can’t write for shit, whose only talent is being cute and young. Thanks.
And they think they’re being helpful.
I’m pissed. I’m really fucking pissed that I have all these voices in my head that are not mine. That all the men in Hollywood I meet take it upon themselves to tell me what to write and how to navigate my career. It’s not as if they are going to stick around and be my mentor (and, if they did, it would be some kind of depraved S&M Secretary shit). No. They just need their little power trip from telling the poor, helpless girl what to do. Poor girl has no idea. No talent. But, she’s slim. She’s cute. She has one valuable asset.
And, the worst part is I’m often convinced they’re right. Maybe my only skill is my looks. But, this doesn’t make any sense, because I’m completely insecure about my looks.
I’m sick of these voices telling me how I should be living my life. Telling me, that if I continue my current trajectory, I’ll land in nowhereville and have no success. I’m sick of these guys assuming they know what is best for me. That they know who I am and how I operate. That I am so stupid, I have no idea how the industry works.
But, god, sometimes I worry that they’re right. And that is what bothers me the most. That maybe I am on the road to failure. That I am writing poorly and writing the wrong things. That I am a fool for not having a job in the industry and not being able to network. And I wonder, do I seem so helpless and inept that they need to offer me advice?
Or do they think it will charm my pants off?
* I just made up the word rejectors