to my depressed friend:

of course. me too. but:

an amazing thing happens in this job, when you complete a piece of work, however partial a form it takes: people sometimes read it. people like you (who it turns out are people like me) and people like all those other people out there too. and some people love the work and transfer that love to you, and you don’t know what to do with it; some people hate the work and transfer that hate to you and you don’t know what to do with it and on and on. i learned very early on that I couldn’t control reactions. i’d say it’s human nature to want to but i’ve never been particularly adept at guessing or imitating human nature. it feels like truth: we want to be understood, we want to be liked, we want to feel OKAY whatever that means moment to moment.

it took me longer to realize i shouldn’t attempt to shape reactions, either. it’s why the backmatter of CASANOVA changed so much over time and the three (er… five…) volumes saw me gradually disappearing from those pages; it’s why i stopped doing ‘commentary entries’ here when my books came out. it felt too much like trying to put my thumb on the scales, to nudge-nudge wink-wink my way into literally everyone’s good graces and i know, as a reader/viewer/consumer/eater of art… nothing can ruin the experience of art (or “art” as the case may be) faster and more thoroughly than that. I wasn’t talking about craft. I was talking about how smart i think i am. and that’s bullshit.

I don’t mind the how-to stuff when i could stay focused but it’s the WHY stuff that I can’t, in my compulsive need to be validated, lock away. So i abstain anymore. Mostly because if anything I do is going to be worth anything, it has to stand without me saying BUT SEE THIS IS WHAT IT MEANS or THIS IS WHAT I WAS REALLY TALKING ABOUT or even silly things like HARDCORE FANS LIKE ME KNOW THIS IS A REFERENCE TO A STORY 28 YEARS OLD THAT WAS BROUGHT UP AGAIN 11 YEARS AGO SO BY CONNECTING THOSE DOTS I NOW WONDER IF I’VE DONE ANYTHING BUT VAINLY TRIED TO PROVE I’VE READ MORE COMICS THAN OTHER PEOPLE LIKE ME AND IS THAT REALLY SAYING ANYTHING AT ALL OR IS IT JUST A CRY FOR HELP and blah blah blah.

In speaking here more and more, as rigorosly honest as I can, about these things that are right and wrong inside of me, that line gets messier. Anyone with a couple hours and the patience of a saint could read the last few months of posts here and a half-dozen books I’ve written and construct a probably-not-too-far-off psychic map of moi, y'know? I’m hardly a case for Dr. Jung.

Everyone has to be able to read the work (my work, your work, anyone’s work) as you’ve read it and draw their own conclusions without me clearing my throat in the back of the room in and endless game of hot-or-cold with the grand prize being I AM TRANSFORMED INTO A LOVING AND BELOVED HUMAN BEING.

But just between us girls, I’ll tell you this: some of your observations are right on the money and some of your observations are wrong and are manifestations of this disease. And it is a disease, it is an illness, make no fucking mistake. It’s not a mood or a trait or seasonal or some kind of goddamn lifestyle accoutrement or… or however people on the outside would dismiss it.

And I promise you, I promise, promise, promise you, this thing in you is putting its thumb – its tendril – its black fucking tentacle – on the scale and it is pushing down hard.

There is a thing inside of you and me so insidious that it conspires to make us think the very worst things – about yourself, about other people, about the world. That we are alone. That we are unloved and unlovable. That we are doomed and irredeemable and that this thing pressing down on the scale will some day press down so hard we’ll simply collapse downwards forever.

It is not true but FUCK if it isn’t easy to forget that sometimes.

So I read what you said and I not only heard the afflicted but the affliction itself. I hope you’ve sought help, I hope you stay with it, I hope you never, ever forget that you are worth more and mean more than you’ll ever let yourself imagine on even your very best of days. And believe me when i say, as one of our kind to another, you’re wrong, and i hope I can prove it to you the longer it all unfolds.

*

I’m closing the asks for a bit again. it’s not anyone’s “fault” or anything like that but… it takes a toll sometimes and I am wildy unqualified for this line of work. I need to adjust my own oxygen mask for a while. i’m terrified i’m going to reply the wrong way to something or someone or even worse MISS something or there’ll be a tumblr glitch and… and yeah. closing up this corner of the shop for a while. it’s not you. it’s me. Posting of rando nonsense to continue as per usual.