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Dissociation
Dec. 12th, 2023 11:47 amIt’s always so interesting when some impossibly beautiful, famous, rich person turns out to be chronically depressed, isn’t it? 😀
I finished Emily Ratajkowski’s book on the drive to and from Great Barrington. It really was like journeying to a parallel world: The Berkshires were covered in two inches of snow,
I suspect Ratajkowski would be deeply depressed even if she weren’t a famous model. Only child of self-absorbed hippie Boomers careless about boundaries: It’s kind of the perfect recipe for anxious & dissociative offspring. I worry about how closely I may have (inadvertently) followed that parenting recipe myself.
Ratajkowski’s profound dissociation is the primary thing I picked up from her book. And also from her reading of the book: Her narration is flat, inflexionless. It’s kind of dissociation in the classic flavor, a profound disconnect, a curious passivity, an absence of anything that could pass for emotion.
That dissociation is a survival mechanism to some degree because commodifying one’s own body (as models must) is such a strange thing to do, has such a lot in common with enslavement if you think about it.
I dissociated, too, when I was model, though my dissociation took the form of finding everything in the world hilariously funny. Often inappropriately funny.
I dissociate with humor to this very day, in fact.
I’ve never quite understood the emphasis that’s placed on expressing one’s true feelings.
Feelings, it seems to me, are just pinballs, and the various neurons secreting dopamine, serotonin, GABA, acetylcholine, and the like are the flippers, bumpers, targets, and lights in the machine. They keep you engaged, true, but how reliable are they?
###
Apart from my trip to the Berkshires, I did very little yesterday. I finished watching a series called Starstruck, which is utterly delightful. Your basic Notting Hill plot: Celebrity falls in love with non-celebrity; high jinks ensue. Rose Matafeo is a total delight, a major talent.
The kitties continue to acclimatize. Molly spends at least half her time outside the closet; Mabel continues only to come out to eat and poop.
Mabel is not a swiper, so I actually picked her up, placed her on my lap, and petted her for five minutes yesterday.
She didn’t seem to enjoy it.
###
Today I must begin studying for my TaxBwana certification exam.
I finished Emily Ratajkowski’s book on the drive to and from Great Barrington. It really was like journeying to a parallel world: The Berkshires were covered in two inches of snow,
I suspect Ratajkowski would be deeply depressed even if she weren’t a famous model. Only child of self-absorbed hippie Boomers careless about boundaries: It’s kind of the perfect recipe for anxious & dissociative offspring. I worry about how closely I may have (inadvertently) followed that parenting recipe myself.
Ratajkowski’s profound dissociation is the primary thing I picked up from her book. And also from her reading of the book: Her narration is flat, inflexionless. It’s kind of dissociation in the classic flavor, a profound disconnect, a curious passivity, an absence of anything that could pass for emotion.
That dissociation is a survival mechanism to some degree because commodifying one’s own body (as models must) is such a strange thing to do, has such a lot in common with enslavement if you think about it.
I dissociated, too, when I was model, though my dissociation took the form of finding everything in the world hilariously funny. Often inappropriately funny.
I dissociate with humor to this very day, in fact.
I’ve never quite understood the emphasis that’s placed on expressing one’s true feelings.
Feelings, it seems to me, are just pinballs, and the various neurons secreting dopamine, serotonin, GABA, acetylcholine, and the like are the flippers, bumpers, targets, and lights in the machine. They keep you engaged, true, but how reliable are they?
###
Apart from my trip to the Berkshires, I did very little yesterday. I finished watching a series called Starstruck, which is utterly delightful. Your basic Notting Hill plot: Celebrity falls in love with non-celebrity; high jinks ensue. Rose Matafeo is a total delight, a major talent.
The kitties continue to acclimatize. Molly spends at least half her time outside the closet; Mabel continues only to come out to eat and poop.
Mabel is not a swiper, so I actually picked her up, placed her on my lap, and petted her for five minutes yesterday.
She didn’t seem to enjoy it.
###
Today I must begin studying for my TaxBwana certification exam.
