The criticisms my imagination conjures are the worst kind there is. What I mean is the kind of criticism that I invent when there is no response from, say, an editor or Beta tester.
It goes something like this: Why would they not respond? Maybe they hated that I included an emu on page 2, which was sort of silly, I guess, since you would not really expect an emu at a funeral. And the worst thing is I know next to nothing about emus. Damn! Why did I not Google emus??? It would have been so simple! No wonder there is no response! They must have found an emu inaccuracy! They hate my emu! They hate my writing! They hate me!
Such imaginary criticisms strike without warning. They are not the kinds of thoughts you actively think, but the kind that come torpedoing toward you when you would rather them not.
No good can come from imaginary criticism. It is a black hole of pointlessness. There is nothing I can learn from it. But people are hard to read. Any social interaction requires piecing together details of behavior to form an overall impression. The less information is available; the more room the imagination has to write its brutal text into the empty spaces of silence. My mood crashes – even though the trigger is not real.
From my psychology reading, I know that when I react emotionally to a negative event, I am not reacting to the event itself – not directly. I am reacting to what I tell myself about it, if someone fails to return a greeting and I tell myself that it is because they are mad at me, I may end up in distress based on my false interpretation, ignoring all other possibilities such as: the person may have been preoccupied or simply did not hear me.
If I could consciously control what I tell myself about a “negative” event, I could control my moods more effectively, even though my bipolar disorder adds a whole new dimension to the problem of seeing events clearly.
But deliberately having thoughts conducive to a good mood is so much harder than it sounds. For me it is extra hard because I experienced a lot of rejection in my childhood. It culminated in a nightmarish and relentless sixth grade bullying experience that only lasted a year, yet still managed to brand itself into my psyche for life.
One terrible year during my childhood, a tiny fraction of my life, warped my emotional “lens” in a way that distorted my reality for many years to come, leading me to see rejection everywhere, lurking the empty spaces of silence, in shrugs, and even – sometimes – smiles. (Oh no! Was that an ironic smile?) How could one nine-month period of abuse follow me for a lifetime?
I believe it was because my experience was so intense and the ridicule happened when I was at such a vulnerable age, a child on the cusp of adolescence, groping for identity, understanding, and approval.
For whatever reason, bad memories from the distant past can sometimes hi-jack my imagination without warning or permission – and my imagination is dangerously powerful.
An imagination is an awesome thing to have when I write or draw, but there are bad times to have an imagination, like when it goes to work furiously trying to fill in gaps of silence with stories about what others must be thinking.
It is during those times that my imagination becomes an inescapable hell, and it is nearly impossible to correct an afflicted mind with a mind in the grip of a distortion. It is times like those that I think, this is what mental illness is. This is why it is called an illness. This is why bipolar disorder is called a disorder.
In the world of my “mind-reading” imagination, interpretations of behavior always drift toward the extreme. No one is ever indifferent or lukewarm about anything; they love or they hate; they are friendly or enraged; everyone is a hothouse of drama and conflict, fiery and opinionated – all great qualities for writing fictional characters but not so much for determining why someone did not return a greeting.
It seems like imaginary criticism would be easy to deal with, not being real or based on any tangible evidence. The opposite is true. A spoken criticism can be answered, misunderstandings explained; with imaginary criticism there is no one to respond to; it stays inside my mind where it implodes.
How do I escape my own mind when it becomes essentially weaponized? How do I get rid of a depression triggered not by what others are thinking but by what I think they are thinking?
I have done it before. I used to be painfully self-critical while writing, so I made a new habit of always writing down something I loved about my writing even if it was only a graceful sentence or interesting metaphor. The praise was unconditional and effusive. I learned to congratulate myself, always, for even making the effort. It helped immensely. I stopped getting depressed when I was writing.
I have decided to try it with my real life – outside my writing. I wondered: What if, throughout the day, I wrote down praise for the things I did right? I was having a self-critical week, so in desperation, I sent myself an email full of gushing accolades. it did wondrous things for my mood. I liked the experiment so much, I did it again the next day, and the next. Rereading them was so addictive, I was worried it would interfere with my writing.
Ultimately it is my own approval I crave anyway. I wonder, though, why I crave approval at all, from anyone, ever? Sometimes I wish I could have my ego surgically removed so that instead of trying to pad, protect, or defend it, I could get on with the business of living my life.
Never again would I be tempted to argue with a troll. Never again would I have to get defensive or enumerate reasons why I am right and someone else is wrong. Never again would I feel compelled to defend a mistake to someone. I would like to use that energy reading or writing new books. Or drawing. Or taking a walk. Or playing a video game. Or reading a dictionary from start to finish. Almost anything is better.
Besides, the only person who really cares about my “image” is me and I am ready to let it go because I am beginning to see it for what it really is: baggage that slows my progress toward the worthier pursuits of learning, experiencing, loving, and creating.
If you enjoyed this post you might like my other writing. Take a moment and sign up for my free starter library. Click here. Also my new novel \”The Ghosts of Chimera\” will soon be published by the folks over at Rooster and Pig Publishing.