Who is Disillusioned with me?

If you are Disillusioned with me, reveal yourself. I won’t change much, but I think it’s good practice to keep data. If you are not yet disillusioned with me, maybe you should be. But I’d prefer you keep engaging with my stuff, it’s good for my ego.

I keep forgetting that real people read and watch my content. I spend a lot of time in my head talking myself up, since I’m technically doing a bit of brand-building, and a bit of risk taking. Or a lot of both. I become a bit detached from the reality of it all, honestly. Reality of like, having an audience.

This is something I always thought I deserved, by the way. I always read Harry Potter and thought: that is so me, I am so chosen. So even when I didn’t have an audience to micro-influence, I felt like I did. Or like I should. And I acted that way. I’ve always acted like people are watching me, Truman show style. Even if it’s just God and the angels watching. I literally put on a show. I do not think I’d make a great actress. Unfortunately.

Now that I have grown an audience, I usually think: who the fuck is reading this? Or I'll be editing a video of me tweaker dancing with a vacant smile and wonder: who the fuck is watching this? I wouldn’t. I would not read or watch my own content if I wasn’t me. I wouldn’t read or watch someone else’s content if it were mirrored after mine. Yet I expect everyone else to, and I expect them to eat it up. Why? I do not have a valid answer for that. I guess I think I’m really interesting and inspiring. I guess I beg for that kind of narrative in my night-time diary to God, and then I read that in my DMs, like a prayer answered, and I feel like all is right with the world. I really appreciate that people read and watch my content. Sometimes I wish I made better blog posts and better videos, so it made sense why people do engage with me. I just kind of do whatever is easiest. I don’t know if that’s authenticity or laziness. I do have a bit of imposter syndrome about it all. Like, if I made better stuff it would make sense why people would like it. But the stuff is meh, and anyone could do it. Many people do it, actually, and they do it better. Kudos to them. I do my best. And if I don’t feel it’s good enough, I do something else. This philosophy has got me to a pretty-good place in life. I got great grades in most things, just not math. I put my math-attention on other subjects. And now I can’t count.

I went through a little phase with my friends, I think in college, where I would ponder influencing. I would neg it though, because “it kind of takes over your whole life, because your career and your life are essentially One thing”. And even though no one asked, I would assure my friends that I would Not be pursuing an influencing career. Even though my private snapchat story was getting tons of great feedback. Everyone who already chose to be my friend thought I was very entertaining and friend-worthy, basically. Therefore everyone in the world would probably agree. IF I wanted to be an influencer, which I didn't.

I am still not an influencer. I do not sell anyone anything. Every campaign I’ve done, paid or gifted, as been such a challenge for me that I am brought to my knees, brought to tears, sick over the process. I also don’t want to plague my precious audience with #ad, because I myself am not a consumer piggy. Even when people comment and message me about my coveted items, I usually have to disappoint them with the truth. Most of my stuff is hand-me-down. You can check my amazon storefront for like, bamboo sheets my Ex-lover insisted I buy, and mouth tape that I stopped purchasing because it felt like an unnecessary expense (even though it worked).

When I first started making my videos, I was really jazzed up about all the attention. Chat GPT had told me to post 6 times a day, so I did. I posted whatever was easy. At the time I was doing mouth tape and drinking iced coffee with 5 different Whole-Foods powders in it. I was running around my NYC apartment getting dressed for my corporate job. I was talking about my life, and making cheeky jokes, and pissing some people off because I said I wanted to be cat-called. I had no filter, same as real life. Then I got spooked, and feared cancellation, because I had motion and some numbers. I also like, crashed the fuck out, I was getting recognized in public, and I was not really having fun anymore. My situationship ended by my hand, my family situation was bleak, and I was on a Performance Plan at my boring desk job, half because I didn’t care about it, and half because I wasn’t good at it. These were pretty normal problems for someone like me to have, all things considered. I was almost a year sober from being a blackout alcoholic party girl who insisted on hooking up with my Ex every time he would respond to my drunk texts. Like, I would text him every time I was drunk. Not even because I wanted to see him, but it was fun, and it was a habit at this point. I was also eating shit all over NYC, breaking my teeth, getting stitches in my chin, real ugly stuff. It took me many years of reckless drinking and bad-stories (that I was proud of at the time, embarrassingly) to get sober. I also had many mental-health related bad-stories that I was not proud of. And unfortunately you can’t quit bad-mental-health. So having regular life-problems and no psychotic breaks or bender-related injuries meant I was in a good place. But not that good.

I took my sabbatical from work, went home to NJ, and recuperated from the situation at hand. I don’t even know what you’d label it. I just got really suicidal, honestly. Happens. It happens even when you’re popping off on the internet and getting recognized in the street. It happens with the Acne Studio sales associate recognizes you as Jar Jar infront of your situationship, who is buying himself pants. Pants you didn’t really like, that he tried on for you in the dressing room, that you thumbs’d up and thought: why am I going shopping with you so often and you’re not buying me a single thing?

I crashed out and took a leave off work because my situationship didn’t buy me anything at Acne Studios, or the Webster. Obviously.

So I was home, getting notifications of people STILL liking my early videos, and I was like: ew. Ewwww I don’t wanna see it. I’m so cringe, how was this a few months ago and not years ago? How can I put more distance between me and this girl?

I was loosing weight rapidly from my depression diet, so naturally I just started wearing tight-ass low-rise jeans and making sultrier dancing videos to cooler songs. I said more meta-stuff and raised my arms above my head to show off my skinny abdomen. Most guys on my recent-roster had either fetishized my thinness, or told me to get thinner. I was hopeful that if they saw how thin I was in my videos, they’d think very highly of me, and I’d be able to snatch those positive-vibrations from the metaverse, and get stronger and more powerful. Of course I was thinking about the guys on my roster when I was pondering my internet persona. Them, and the audience I was confused by. Obviously everyone watching me had something negative to say about me. That, or they were jealous, or wanted me back. Or if they liked me, they must suck. Which was a confusing thing to think, because I like myself most of the time, and I always expected an audience. My preemie-bipolar grandiosity popped out far before my diagnosis.

So in my little rebrand, I also decided to make a website. I was hesitant at first, because making a website seems like a manic thing to do. And even though I was depressed as anything, I was scared to trigger a manic episode. Luckily that would come a few months later, coinciding with my reintroduction to painting and drawing. A brilliant manic-art-genius coming to life. Why isn’t Miss Jar Jar Binks at Art-Basel right now?

So I figured I could make something reputable of my facetious jar-jar thing. Cos I was kinda doing fashion stuff (with what I could, because I wanted free clothes, honestly) and I was doing humor stuff, but I couldn’t really stretch it into “lifestyle” stuff. Like, none of the powder-brands I used in my powder-coffee wanted to work with me. Which was understandable, considering I was proudly toting my bipolar-alcoholic banner and saying some pretty out-of-pocket things. And I was like: whatever, fuck it. Even though I started off wanting money and free stuff, I decided now I wanted to be a true Artiste, create a legacy or something. And it was kinda pissing me off when I was noticing a lot of people have been doing this for awhile. Like, painting and writing isn’t unique. There is a possibility I am not unique. Who is even reading this? Are they disillusioned with me? I’ve told them the ugly truth about all of it. My motivations are purely selfishg evil: I want to be rich as hell, and revered, and loved like no other. I want to be groundbreaking and the ground is kind of broken? People have been honest before, they’ve written satire. Ugly things have happened to people, ugly things have been felt and they’ve been said. I just get a little cocky, so I’m like: when it happens to ME it’s different, though. It’s more interesting, and special, and it’s never really been done before, not my way. And then I worry that it’s been done better, actually, and I’m getting old, actually. I am shy sometimes, and awkward, and people who have introduced themselves to Jar Jar in public have probably reported that to their friends.

I have a history, some of it’s ugly. Some of it makes me look great, though, so luckily I can share about both, cos there’s balance.

I have exes who read my stuff, and they must still think I’m interesting enough to engage with. My audience. My exes are rooting for me. They even think I’m going somewhere, even though writing and blogging and oversharing ugly-feeling stuff has been done before by other people. I have exes who think I’m confusing, even though I’ve literally said everything. I have exes who think I’m wordy. My exes have told me they think I’m dumb and stupid, and I know im neither, so I should probably stop measuring myself in things-my-exes think about me. Half of them aren’t even real exes. I just use that word. They were more likely flings, or lovers if I’m being Romantic and Coy and kind of French.

I’ve always said everything. I say things that I know most people probably won’t like, and I won’t get the benefit of the doubt. I prefer it that way, I like to be honest, and clear, and I don’t consider anything confrontation if the goal is to communicate. And it must be the case that I’m only misunderstood by people who want to misunderstand me. Who don’t get the joke, or the bigger picture, who don’t understand the way I think, or the way I talk. Of course those people don’t get me and don’t like me, and they never will. Flotsam.

And the people who do get me are probably very similar to me. Or maybe want to be, because someone else said they were, and they said it in a positive way. So they maybe don’t get me, but they’re trying.

What’s important is that I’ve always had pockets of friends who get me, and I think my family is mostly starting to get me. No one in Colorado gets me yet, but they’re figuring it out. And I’m very Hannah Montana in Colorado actually, because no one knows that I get minor internet recognition, and that some people really get me, and some people really don’t.

My winding, repetitive and tangential blogs DO get read. I always forget that.