Harvest Not Feast 2014 GBUM

I've never had a bad time at a Bitter End Event. That trend continues.

Good

Shot well enough in their Defender's tournament to tie for third. Two solid arrows and I could have won.

Got lots of quality gossiping in with assorted people.

The tournaments I didn't take part in looked like a lot of fun.

The Black Galley provided me with a quality roast beef dinner.

Bad

Said dinner from the Black Galley was required because there was no on-board feast this year. The harvest wasn't that good this year I guess.

I'm sunburned.

Ugly

I feel like I'm on the edge of a depressive incident. This has nothing to do with Harvest Feast (hell, it probably postponed it), but they are coinciding.

Meh

Still sorting out some social issues.

Other observations

I'm not as good at observing where the cameras are as I thought.

Sir Gunther (whom I do not know, and have not met), looked like a helmet containing nothing but a giant grin whenever he was fighting. Clearly this was a man simply happy to be out in the sun swinging a sword.

Benalto is sufficiently farther than Shady Nook, that it through off my travel time estimates. I'm happy I got there in time to compete.

Photos, Complements, and Demons

So this all makes me anxious. And I mean that literally in the I just had an anxiety attack way. But still, I will try to explain myself.

Yesterday I was going through photos of this weekend's event. I happened upon one of myself. It was not flattering. Oh, the photo was well composed and shot (the photographer has a keen eye for candid portrait shots), but I wasn't aware of being shot, so I didn't do all the little things I do to make sure the picture is flattering. I didn't smile, or suck in my gut, or push my head forward. I was just standing there having just loosed an arrow. All I could see were my faults.

Coincidentally, I knew which end the shot was taken, and I had missed one of the shots (in the middle, and I got complimented for recovering the remaining arrows. If you're an archer, you know how hard that can be). I mentioned then that having any sort of talent means that you hit a stage where all you can see are your faults. I had several good shots that end, and one failure. All I could see was the failure. Likewise with the photo, all I could see was every feature I hate about myself.

There are photos of myself that I like. The avatar picture attached to this post for example, is the single best photo of me ever taken. I'm relaxed, having a good time, my smile touches my eyes and my hat is at a jaunty angle - what's not to like? Beothuk asked to take it when I was in the perfect mood to have my photo taken (notably, he asked first). There's a few others.

When I was younger, I was one of those folks who would admonish the photographer to not take my photo. Later I relaxed on this stance since it only pissed off a bunch of people who didn't stop taking my photo anyway. Go ahead and take my photo, I thought, so long as I don't have to look at it. I'd also try to avoid being in the shot if I was able. Turning my head, moving so there was an obstacle between me and the camera. Subtle things, I thought, until I realized that I was probably about as subtle as a six-year old's knock knock joke to someone with a telephoto lens aimed at me.

I've been battling depression recently (can't run due to a reoccurring back injury, just got a nasty reminder that a long hard winter is just around the corner), but hadn't quite slipped over the edge. Then I saw a photo of myself that I didn't like. Because I hadn't wished for it to be taken. Because it slapped me in the face with my flaws. Because everybody else this guy took a picture of looked luminous. Because of my demons.

So I though, fuck it, I'm going to go to bed. I'm tired and I recognize that this was going to upset me if I dwelled on it. And had I left it at that, I wouldn't be writing a therapy piece right now. No, instead I made a (what my tired ass thought was funny) quip about it.

God damn. Sometimes I forget how spectacularly ugly I am.
Must avoid cameras at events more.

And then I went to bed.

I woke up to find everyone had dog-piled on me. They had good intentions. They were mostly my friends, with a few acquaintances thrown in for good measure. mostly they admonished me about being hard on myself. There was also threats of violence.

Just a short aside about the threats of violence, then back to the main thread of my self-deprecation and its aftermath: Don't do that. I really hate it when people think saying "If you do that again, I'll kick you in the balls" is helpful. An old ex-friend used to do that all the time. He'd use vague unspecified threats (e.g. "If you do that again, I won't be held responsible for what I do next"), but still he did it. It was a shitty way of trying to deal with interpersonal problems when he should have just used his words instead. I still run into that jackass now and then. I've more or less resolved to call him on his BS if he ever does it again in my presence. Anyway, it reminds me of him is only one aspect. The other is that you're either lying about the threat, or you're not lying about it. Neither of these are things that friends should be doing. And yeah, call me on it if you see me doing it.

Ahem, where was I?

Anyway, I got a lot of "you're not ugly" in return. That more than anything else upset me more. Because deep down, I can't take compliments. I always think it's friendship-pity. And I always want to dig in and argue the point, as if being right is more important than trusting your friends. Still, it's not about being right, it's that the demons are fighting to survive, and their survival depends on me being miserable. Nothing quite like turning around every compliment into an insult.

And it's a surprisingly hard thing to break oneself of - hell, I've been self-deprecating about my being self-deprecating here in this article. How's that for a vicious downward spiral of emo bullshit.

When I was in elementary, I learned early that if people were blowing smoke up your ass, it's because they wanted something. Often that something was to simply make fun of you. When I was the school outcast, I'd occasionally have the cool kids befriend me. They'd pay me compliments and talk about how much they actually liked me. They'd do this long enough for me to help them with something, or share my candy bar, or just until I'd bought it so that they could make fun of me for buying it. "You actually think we liked you? Loser."

Obviously my adult friends aren't like that. I've got friends whom I've been through the wringer with. They've been through thick and thin with me. Still, my inner nine-year old remembers.

On the bright side, when the Alistairs of the world come knocking, I can spot them from a mile away. It's the primary reason I refused to let baby-crazy-girl get closer to me when she was briefly in the SCA.

Another thing I learned as a child? If you insult yourself first, it means the bullies can't. If you want to know the genesis of my self-deprecating sense of humour, that's it.

All of this is unhealthy and I have therapeutic techniques to deal with it. Countering thoughts ("No. your friends really do think you're average-to-attractive. Don't second guess them") for example. But sometimes I'm too tired to wield them.

A lot of this is a long-winded way of saying, complimenting me when I'm beating myself isn't that helpful. If you want to do so in the future, a simple "I like you", without qualifications is appreciated. If you say "I like you and you're attractive", my computer programmer's brain will go "Hmm, logically that evaluates to false because 1 & 0 == 0".

I appreciate all the concern folks - I just needed to vent. Now that I'm done, I'd rather not dwell on it more. Let's keep it to a single day so that tomorrow will be better.