On (not) being a Clementine
Remember I mentioned a new favorite movie in my last post? “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”. I watched it this past Saturday after watching probably 20 analyses. Knowing what I’d see didn’t take away from the experience of actually watching it. I’d wager to say that I wouldn’t have understood jack shit if it weren’t for the plot being explained to me beforehand.
I related to Joel but wanted to be Clementine.
Throughout my life, I have emulated real people and fictional characters I liked. Like, transplanted the majority of their traits onto myself. At first I’d do that to gain outside acceptance. Over time, I began to strive towards transcending normalcy and achieving admiration and adoration.
Watching Clementine, I felt the exactly how I’d felt with each past idol of mine. I fell head over heels in love with what I was seeing. She wasn’t trying to be normal like I’d spent my life doing.
Apparently, she fits the profile of somebody with Borderline Personality Disorder.
I have a suspicion that I might have it, myself. I lack personal boundaries; tend towards codependency and impulse spending. I, like Clementine, can’t tell what I like from one moment to the next. My relationships are usually either turbulent, or non-existent; they both begin and end abruptly. I’m constantly torn between extremes. I feel boring but at the same time, think I can be quite intriguing and complicated. My self-image fluctuates from hour to hour.
I genuinely feel trapped in my stable-seeming life and desperately crave variety. I take up hobbies only to drop them right away. I, uh, define myself by externals – the way I look, the things I do. I put extreme pressure on myself to perform well because I take not doing well at any given thing, really, as a failure; and my hobbies are basically non-existent because I feel like I’m never going to excel, so, as I wrote in my previous entry, what’s the fucking point.
About Clementine again, she’s reckless and chaotic. Watching her, I thought, “I want to be like that”. I thought, “More traits I can collect to ascend to that next level”. I thought, “Maybe I should change my hair; maybe I should start dressing extravagantly and act nonchalantly”. Then I realized that, with my lack of a friend group and the impending country-wide lockdown, I have literally no one to impress. And I can’t fool myself because I’m the actor and the spectator at the same time.
I have a type of person I emulate. They’re always much more extroverted than I naturally am. I’m a social opportunist. I play an extrovert at large gatherings but on a day to day basis, I prefer to be left a l o n e (whilst bemoaning my lack of company). I like people and characters that have street smarts rather than books smarts; I gravitate to unconventional appearances, worldviews and attitudes. The sad thing is, I’m hyper aware of my character flaws, terribly conservative and practical and anticipate everything that could go ever go wrong; meaning I’ll never be as free of a spirit as Clementine is. I’m the antithesis of what impresses me. My self-expression is becoming more constricted over time as I try to be a high-functioning whatever.
Maybe it’s for my own good.
My pragmatism doesn’t allow me to get blackout-drunk and wreck people’s property. My self-awareness doesn’t allow me to not work on what I know is wrong with me (as with Clementine’s hinted-at alcoholism and unhealthy relationship patterns, as well as her lack of self-confidence).
And while I wish I could be careless, reckless, chaotic and non-apologetic about all of these, I know that it’d be harmful because that’s what I used to be like before I was forced to change to get by…
But why does practicality and putting a lid on my emotions, wants, needs and self-expression feel so terribly wrong?!...
I know Clementine, as a fictional character, is free to do all these harmful things and never grow out of her self-destructive ways. I can romanticize her dysfunction, clad in beauty and shocking color. I’m a living person. I have to live with the consequences of letting my brokenness damage the world around me. I’m forced to grow from what’s wrong with me by circumstance but I also have a luxury no fictional character has: agency. I can decide for myself.
P.S.: it feels great having a fictional character for a substitute for my ex-favorite person! A fictional character hasn’t and can’t hurt you, thus has no power over you. They’re just a reference point and a mirror you can use to analyze yourself without actually hurting anyone.
