We are all influenced by media, some more than others – of course but if you live in modern society it is an inevitable reality. I didn’t have cable television as a child. I have seen only one episode of “Spongebob” – a fact that some deem impossible. I am by no means above any of it. In fact as a child I remember sitting at a round table, in tiny second grade plastic chairs and struggling to follow the references my peers were making. It was a bit isolating, and as an introverted child with mostly books for friends, I shrunk further into my shell. I would go to one of my friends houses and marvel at the Disney channel and Nickelodeon. We’d eat snack food and drink soda and I’d always feel a pang of jealousy when my boring, working mom would bring me home to eat green beans.
When I was in middle school I took matters into my own hands. I watched all of Friends by streaming it on terribly sketchy websites. My intellectual property attorney father had repeatedly told me never to download something and violate the rights of the artist/creator, something that my obsessive mind latched onto. My life long friend Anna was secretly watching “Secret Life of An American Teenager” (did I get that title right?). She stopped when her mom caught her and grounded her for a while. I, not as restrained by parental imposed rules, continued to watch.
High school rolled around and Netflix started streaming. I would covet the days that I could be on my own watching “30 Rock” and having a PB&J with a side of veggie fries…yum. I still read, moving on from YA fiction and fantasy, to nonfiction as I progressed through adolescence, yet television became consistently present, more than ever before. When my mother was sick I would get through the nights by watching “Ugly Betty” on my iPod touch. I would watch until my eyes drooped and I couldn’t anymore. I got a D on my geometry final the year she died and I remember my father yelling at me in a Long Island diner because I had spent the night before watching the show “24” until early morning. Netflix no longer has, as far as I know, a way to access streaming history. At sixteen, the many nights I spent at home with my brother when my father was away, were full of television. I watched, “Gossip Girl”, “Pretty Little Liars”, and “Sex and The City.” They were all enthralling in certain ways, and as a young girl living without a mother to ask and a father too busy to listen, I started to get the idea that perhaps relationships are always full of TV worthy drama.
As an adult living on my own without much of a safety net or support – I was confused. Why wasn’t I able to find a group of friends in the city like on “How I Met Your Mother” or “Seinfeld?” Why was it that when I went out drinking I would get inebriated so quickly when I’d seen everyone on “Mad Men” drink much more and be fine? I know the simple answer to these questions is that television is not real, it is scripted, directed, and, meant to be full of captivating drama. Yet for such a long time it had answered the questions my parents couldn’t, and made me feel connected to the adult world. At fourteen I wasn’t old enough to internalize my parents’ healthy relationship, I wasn’t dating, and I didn’t date until after my father died. For all intents and purposes, I was alone in a world that I did not understand. So I turned to what I did know – fiction.
I am still trying to wrap my head around healthy relationships and trust. I look at people together for years and wonder what secret issue they are hiding. I have always been scared of boredom or complacency. What has come of this is unnecessary hardship. Pain that could have easily been avoided had I known how to respect boundaries. In my quest to find my idea of unconditional love, I have tossed people aside. I have turned friendships into chaos, ending into constant abandonment, which I just chalk up to the fact that I will never be happy. Yet what does being happy mean? It can’t be exciting affairs that end in heartbreak. It isn’t dating someone because they look good on paper, when deep down I just don’t care.
I’m only hurting myself. Like many things in life, these lessons have come from mistakes. Mistakes that I cannot run from because I face the ramifications of them constantly. In recovery and sobriety, the last almost year or so. I have had space to breathe. Mania was as dramatic as a soap opera – one that I saw long ago and remember slightly. Yet certain memories bubble up and make me cringe. Many of my friends have found their ways into nice, calm relationships. I do not know what I want – who does? One does not need a relationship to be happy. Yet now that I have lived a bit more (not much more) and have experiences to guide my expectations, I do not need to base my reality on fiction.
I am my reality.
What influences your relationships? Let me know!