Jan. 1st, 2019 02:54 pm
A Silent Fandom Exile
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teethntongue(This started as a post for the Fandom Snowflake challenge, but then it spiraled into such a rambling downer, that I felt like I should really make a separate post. So, yeah.)
I have a weird and deeply conflicted relationship with fandom. Part of me has always deeply identified with the community, but I've also always been on the outskirts. A strange kind of silent exile, a constant lurker, too afraid to do... anything, really.
For most of my life, a foundational pillar of my identity has been "writer." One would think, then, that fanfiction would have been a natural entrance into fandom. After all, I found it very early on, and deeply enjoyed it as an avid reader of all things fiction in those early days of the internet. But as that confused queer tween/early teen, I also found elitism and gatekeeping even from those first moments. Seeing people tear down fics for "being OoC" made me feel like if I didn't have an encyclopedic knowledge of a character or series and the ability to perfectly match tone, I'd be a laughingstock. That combined with my own lack of confidence that made (and still makes) me feel like I'm terrible at plot so none of my ideas were worth contributing, plus the rampant homophobia of the early aughts... yeah, writing my own fics was just a no-go.
But if fiction was out, why not then meta? When I was first dipping my toes into fandom, I didn't see any of it, truly. If it was out there, it wasn't in my sphere. Once I did come across it, there was already a culture of derision for things that had already been said before. (I'm specifically thinking on Tumblr of people who would complain that something beings said before on a popular post -- as if one should be expected to go through several thousand notes to see if something had been said instead of making one's own comment.) With my chronically worsening social anxiety, I simply couldn't bring myself to ever share my thoughts unless I could be absolutely sure they were wholly original and added meaningfully to the conversation -- that is to say, never.
Even (especially?) in my close friend group I wasn't safe. Not only was there all of that, but also that oh-so-prevalent and toxic practice of "claiming." There would be a Calvinball-eque argument about who was the "biggest fan" of any given series or thing, and whoever "won" had the privilege of "claiming" it. At very least, they got to pick their favorite character first, and no one else was allowed to have that character as a favorite. Sometimes, the whole series would be off-limits, depending on the "rules" that the claimant placed on it. Needless to say, with my learned inability to prioritize my own desires, I never "won" and was thus continuously "disallowed" to express interest in countless characters, series, or ideas.
Although I did eventually find a much better support system in my 20's, much of the damage had already been done. Plus, my friends had also been steeped in the same toxic environments that I had, and many of us still carried a lot of these ideas as "normal," and despite our best efforts, repeated much of the same behavior that had been modeled for us.
On top of all of that, very similar problems were plaguing my personal creativity as well. Toxic and elitist communities continued to tear down my confidence in my creations of any kind, which only lead to the idea of creating fan content becoming even more impossible.
Even just any kind of engagement with fan content quickly became insurmountably hard. There was again the far of saying something that had been said before, or of somehow engaging "wrong." The few times I did try, I was wildly unlucky and had my fears confirmed by aggressive and demeaning fana.
But yet, I watched other people have fun in fandom. I watch them take characters that I loved, too, and do wonderful things. I watched them make friends over a shared passion. They created, they loved, they connected, and I both coveted that and lived vicariously through them from what I read on their blogs or journals.
And, in a couple small ways, I had shining moments. I'd eeked my way into a community that was a heavy, heavy AU, far removed enough from canon that it was basically original fiction. In many ways my troubles with fandom were echoed there as well, but I also did manage to meet at least one shining person -- my now-mate. My writing got much less attention than many members of even that small fandom, but it was the most attention anything I'd ever created had gotten before. It was a taste of something brighter, even if it brought with it more fear and hurt that I wasn't emotionally prepared to deal with.
After a while, though, even that... faded away. Personal upheavals in my life pulled me away, and during that time, the Livejournal upheavals sent a lot of fandom scattering in my absence. When I finally settled again, I settled on Tumblr, but... well. That was hardly the best community. I never quite figured out how to connect to people there, and the notorious toxicity often kept me from even attempting to engage with media.
Now, after a lifetime of feeling like fandom wasn't "for me," like I wasn't needed or wanted, I struggle to even find things I like. I still feel like if I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of a series, I'm not "allowed" to like it.
And then if I do start to like something? I struggle to turn off my critical brain. I find it generally difficult not to obsess over problems in it, and what people would say about me. How they might try and take it away from me, or ruin it for me. (Gods know that has happened only recently, despite my desperate attempts to curate my experiences. One of the few things that I was truly and deeply excited about was repeatedly torn down until I can't even look at it now and any mention of it makes me sick.)
Fandom has not been a safe space for me, or even a happy place. But I always wanted it to be.
I wanted to write and create and share. I wanted to lose myself in the fiction that I so loved -- the fiction that had been my sanctuary throughout my troubled childhood. I wanted to connect with others who felt the same.
But now... now, it just seems impossible. After all the years of abuse and toxicity, after my continually worsening depression and social anxiety, just so much of it has been internalized to the point where I don't even know what to do. If I ever try to sit down and create something -- talk about something I like, or write a fic of any sort, or write meta, anything -- my mind goes completely blank. I just... have nothing to say.
Sure, occasionally I can join into discussions wit my friends and talk meta and fix-it's and alternatives in just a casual and off-handed way once the ball got rolling, but when I'm left alone with just my own thoughts... nothing. I am so bogged down in my own anxiety, fear, abuse and self-loathing I literally can't feel or think about anything else.
I don't really know what I expected from this post. Nothing, really. Just even attempting to engage with fandom in even the most low-key, open, and harmless way made all of this come pouring out.
And something about that -- about the inability to even do something so benign and small -- is desperately demoralizing and depressing. The whole mess that is my creative expression just seems so, so hopeless and has for years.
I have a weird and deeply conflicted relationship with fandom. Part of me has always deeply identified with the community, but I've also always been on the outskirts. A strange kind of silent exile, a constant lurker, too afraid to do... anything, really.
For most of my life, a foundational pillar of my identity has been "writer." One would think, then, that fanfiction would have been a natural entrance into fandom. After all, I found it very early on, and deeply enjoyed it as an avid reader of all things fiction in those early days of the internet. But as that confused queer tween/early teen, I also found elitism and gatekeeping even from those first moments. Seeing people tear down fics for "being OoC" made me feel like if I didn't have an encyclopedic knowledge of a character or series and the ability to perfectly match tone, I'd be a laughingstock. That combined with my own lack of confidence that made (and still makes) me feel like I'm terrible at plot so none of my ideas were worth contributing, plus the rampant homophobia of the early aughts... yeah, writing my own fics was just a no-go.
But if fiction was out, why not then meta? When I was first dipping my toes into fandom, I didn't see any of it, truly. If it was out there, it wasn't in my sphere. Once I did come across it, there was already a culture of derision for things that had already been said before. (I'm specifically thinking on Tumblr of people who would complain that something beings said before on a popular post -- as if one should be expected to go through several thousand notes to see if something had been said instead of making one's own comment.) With my chronically worsening social anxiety, I simply couldn't bring myself to ever share my thoughts unless I could be absolutely sure they were wholly original and added meaningfully to the conversation -- that is to say, never.
Even (especially?) in my close friend group I wasn't safe. Not only was there all of that, but also that oh-so-prevalent and toxic practice of "claiming." There would be a Calvinball-eque argument about who was the "biggest fan" of any given series or thing, and whoever "won" had the privilege of "claiming" it. At very least, they got to pick their favorite character first, and no one else was allowed to have that character as a favorite. Sometimes, the whole series would be off-limits, depending on the "rules" that the claimant placed on it. Needless to say, with my learned inability to prioritize my own desires, I never "won" and was thus continuously "disallowed" to express interest in countless characters, series, or ideas.
Although I did eventually find a much better support system in my 20's, much of the damage had already been done. Plus, my friends had also been steeped in the same toxic environments that I had, and many of us still carried a lot of these ideas as "normal," and despite our best efforts, repeated much of the same behavior that had been modeled for us.
On top of all of that, very similar problems were plaguing my personal creativity as well. Toxic and elitist communities continued to tear down my confidence in my creations of any kind, which only lead to the idea of creating fan content becoming even more impossible.
Even just any kind of engagement with fan content quickly became insurmountably hard. There was again the far of saying something that had been said before, or of somehow engaging "wrong." The few times I did try, I was wildly unlucky and had my fears confirmed by aggressive and demeaning fana.
But yet, I watched other people have fun in fandom. I watch them take characters that I loved, too, and do wonderful things. I watched them make friends over a shared passion. They created, they loved, they connected, and I both coveted that and lived vicariously through them from what I read on their blogs or journals.
And, in a couple small ways, I had shining moments. I'd eeked my way into a community that was a heavy, heavy AU, far removed enough from canon that it was basically original fiction. In many ways my troubles with fandom were echoed there as well, but I also did manage to meet at least one shining person -- my now-mate. My writing got much less attention than many members of even that small fandom, but it was the most attention anything I'd ever created had gotten before. It was a taste of something brighter, even if it brought with it more fear and hurt that I wasn't emotionally prepared to deal with.
After a while, though, even that... faded away. Personal upheavals in my life pulled me away, and during that time, the Livejournal upheavals sent a lot of fandom scattering in my absence. When I finally settled again, I settled on Tumblr, but... well. That was hardly the best community. I never quite figured out how to connect to people there, and the notorious toxicity often kept me from even attempting to engage with media.
Now, after a lifetime of feeling like fandom wasn't "for me," like I wasn't needed or wanted, I struggle to even find things I like. I still feel like if I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of a series, I'm not "allowed" to like it.
And then if I do start to like something? I struggle to turn off my critical brain. I find it generally difficult not to obsess over problems in it, and what people would say about me. How they might try and take it away from me, or ruin it for me. (Gods know that has happened only recently, despite my desperate attempts to curate my experiences. One of the few things that I was truly and deeply excited about was repeatedly torn down until I can't even look at it now and any mention of it makes me sick.)
Fandom has not been a safe space for me, or even a happy place. But I always wanted it to be.
I wanted to write and create and share. I wanted to lose myself in the fiction that I so loved -- the fiction that had been my sanctuary throughout my troubled childhood. I wanted to connect with others who felt the same.
But now... now, it just seems impossible. After all the years of abuse and toxicity, after my continually worsening depression and social anxiety, just so much of it has been internalized to the point where I don't even know what to do. If I ever try to sit down and create something -- talk about something I like, or write a fic of any sort, or write meta, anything -- my mind goes completely blank. I just... have nothing to say.
Sure, occasionally I can join into discussions wit my friends and talk meta and fix-it's and alternatives in just a casual and off-handed way once the ball got rolling, but when I'm left alone with just my own thoughts... nothing. I am so bogged down in my own anxiety, fear, abuse and self-loathing I literally can't feel or think about anything else.
I don't really know what I expected from this post. Nothing, really. Just even attempting to engage with fandom in even the most low-key, open, and harmless way made all of this come pouring out.
And something about that -- about the inability to even do something so benign and small -- is desperately demoralizing and depressing. The whole mess that is my creative expression just seems so, so hopeless and has for years.
no subject
The best advice I have right now is to find a small group of people who have similar interests and tolerances and surround yourself with them. Tumblr was a good place for the former but a bad place for the latter; it was easy to wind up talking to everyone or no one. But finding or starting a very small Discord, or cultivating a filter on here to share your thoughts, might create that atmosphere of trust.
You don't have to start large at all. Maybe just make things and share them with one person you trust a lot. There was a year when the discourse was bad and frustrating and geopolitics were too and I couldn't deal with it so I just wrote with Titian and didn't post anything for a while, but we still had each other to talk with and affirm and build our interest in things. It was a bad year but because we had each other, it was better than it could have been.
no subject
I'm definitely going to try. I really want to make a concerted effort... which is really why I published this at all. Just. Trying to actually get words down. Share thoughts. Say something, for a change. Even though the screaming voice in my head says not to, that at best no one cares and at worst it'll do harm.
On the one hand, I'm really lucky to have a good group of people I care about and trust who really Get Things. On the other, we're all abuse survivors unlearning Really Bad Habits, and sometimes some of those habits clash really badly. I think that's part of what's made this so, so hard these last few years: I have my small group / one person, but I was unintentionally really hurt in this area. Everyone involved meant well, but that kinda makes it worse in some ways? It means I'm not mad, but I also have a visceral fear reaction with the people I love and trust most when it comes to my creative things. Which is scary and sad. We're actively working through it and communicating well now, and things have improved immensely over the last six months... but it still impacts me and hurts right now, regardless.
I'm sorry to Wall of Text you in reply. It's just a messy emotional situation that it just kind of boiling over right now. Thank you very much for "listening." It actually does help just to get it out.
no subject
no subject
And I might just take you up on that offer sometime, but wow, just writing this all out both helped and took the wind out of me simultaneously.
I really hope the both of us can find out creativity again this year.
no subject
no subject