Horror, Culture, Society, and the Need to be Liked by Claire Fitzpatrick Nobody likes me, everybody hates me I think I'll go eat worms! Big fat juicy ones Eensie weensy squeensy ones See how they wiggle and squirm! Down goes the first one, down goes the second one Oh how they wiggle and squirm! Up comes the first one, up comes the second one Oh how they wiggle and squirm! I bite off the heads, and suck out the juice And throw the skins away! Nobody knows how fat I grow On worms three times a day! Nobody likes me, everybody hates me I think I'll go eat worms! Big fat juicy ones Eensie weensy squeensy ones See how they wiggle and squirm! It's official: nobody likes me. At least, nobody at my former workplace does. I creep them out. I make them feel uncomfortable. They don't want to be around me. They dislike me so much I was fired. Some people say the need to be liked is shallow. However, humans are social creatures and need to feel a sense of community. We need to feel supported, appreciated, and nurtured by those around us. Everyone is different, and it is illogical to think everyone will like everyone else; it is mature to acknowledge and understand this. But to be told nobody likes you, that every single person in a workplace doesn't like you, is incredibly depressing. To be fired from a job you loved and valued because you don't fit in with the 'culture', and people find you creepy, is heart-shattering. It feels like a knife to the heart. This is what happened to me. I was called into the office, told nobody liked me, was fired and told Uber was waiting to take me home. The end, goodbye, see you never. *** I always thought I was a polite and decent conversationalist. I try hard to be polite, as I have extreme anxiety due to my borderline personality disorder (BPD). And after almost four years of therapy, I assumed I would have discovered a way to deal with my anxiety. However, I still often over-generalise and believe because one person doesn't like me then everyone else hates me. And while I've tried hard within my almost four years of cognitive behavioural therapy to work on my problems with 'the self-fulfilling prophecy' – that if you believe something strongly enough it will come true, not necessarily because of your actions but because of your perception and attitude- I still haven't found a way to present myself in any way other than I am. This has been my detriment. However, I also feel this isn't entirely necessary to be a part of a functioning society. Much of my writing stems from my loneliness and the things in the world I perceive to be threatening. BPD can be incredibly isolating, and can warp my perception of how the world is. To deal with this, I often make jokes and tell stupid puns because laughter and humour has always made me feel better. Perhaps that's why I'm such a fan of comedy. Many people who are funny suffer from depression and anxiety. Many creatives take their own lives. In 2014, academics from the University of Oxford published the results of research into comedians' psychological traits. Professor Gordon Claridge, of the University of Oxford's Department of Experimental Psychology, studied personality questionnaires filled in by 523 comedians (404 men and 119 women) from the UK, US and Australia, revealing many comedians had unusual personalities, in that their results were contradictory. 'On the one hand, they were rather introverted, depressive, rather schizoid, you might say. And on the other hand, they were rather extroverted and manic. That was a rather unusual profile. The actors we compared them with didn't show that, and this was highly significantly different from the norms on the test. Possibly the comedy - the extroverted side - is a way of dealing with the depressive side.' As a writer, my descent into horror was therapeutic. I'd had four short comedy stories published in 2014, but it wasn't until my first horror story was published in 2015 that I finally found a way to channel my depression into something productive. My loneliness allowed me to create scenarios and situations inside my head where everything bad happened to someone else. Watching horror films was one thing – I'd get that dopamine and serotonin hit – but writing horror was another. Ernest Hemingway is quoted as having said, 'Writing, at its best, is a lonely life.' And for me that's true. Writing, for me, is a lonely experience. But it's a loneliness I can control, especially in horror. Horror forces me to focus – the monsters in my stories (many of which are human) reel me in and require my complete attention. The anxiety and depression I feel can be useful. Everyone has the fear response – the fight or flight mode – and it's ingrained within us, stemming from our ancestor's need to survive threats like animal attacks. When we experience this emotion, our body is flooded with stress hormones, usually adrenaline and cortisol, and our heart rate and blood pressure elevates, allowing us to make instinctive decisions and act quickly. When the fear and the threat is gone, our body experiences a period of rest and digestion, allowing us to calm down and return to our baseline. But for people who experience anxiety, their fight or flight modes don't quite work the same way as everyone else. Our brains react to everyday scenarios as though they are major threats in our lives – like an imminent bear attack against our ancestors – and we are filled with a looming sense of doom and defeat, our bodies rarely able to rest and digest, our fears and anxieties rarely resolved. For some, horror makes this worse. They might read a book or watch a movie and find themselves in the same fight or flight situation, even though the threat isn't real. But for others, like me, it's a welcome relief from pent-up tension and stress. It allows my mind to steer away from real-life stress and anxieties and process how I'm feeling in an environment I can control. I can turn off the movie whenever I want. I can close the page of a book and put it down. I control the anxiety I allow myself to experience. And it's utterly wonderful because it's one of the few ways I can feel as though I've mastered my BPD. As I stood in the tiny office at work listening to my boss tell me how much people didn't like me, I had no control. My heart felt like it would burst from my chest, my muscles were so tense it seemed they would burst through my skin. I felt humiliated, angry, sad, disappointed, and all I wanted was to do was run. And in a way I experienced my own fight or flight mode – do I stand here and defend myself, or do I storm off? But I did neither. I froze. I felt trapped within my body, unable to move. I remained calm when I asked them if there was anything I could do to change their minds. I remained still when they said there wasn't. I didn't yell or scream when I quietly gathered my belongings and left, even though deep inside all I wanted to do was run. And it didn't matter that my heart was beating so loud it felt any minute the adrenaline would burst out of my chest in some Alien-esque fashion. As I walked away I was able to maintain my composure because I didn't want them to think they'd beat me. I didn't want to feel like a victim. They may have attacked me, but I had not been defeated. *** Culture is a word I have grown to dislike. In workplaces, culture describes the created environment in which values, belief systems, and attitudes in a workplace are shared. While culture is shaped by individual upbringing, social, and cultural influences, in a workplace the leadership and the strategic organisational directions and management influence and dictate the workplace culture. Management wants a positive workplace culture, as it improves teamwork, morale, efficiency, and productivity. Yet somehow I didn't fit into this and was singled out as not sharing their values or attitudes. For some reason, they believed I didn't enhance this positive culture. I was the outsider. I was the monster. In a 2007 journal article 'Culture, Evil, and Horror' published by the American Journal of Economics and Sociology, Inc., Paul Santilli wrote 'a culture is a way in which human beings represent their lives to themselves through language and other symbolic systems. With culture, the human separates from the animal and enters an order of discriminations by which the beautiful is distinguished from the ugly, the noble from the shameful, and the pure from the defiled.' It may seem a ridiculous notion, and perhaps this stems from my BPD, but being told I didn't fit within the workplace culture made me feel I was the ugly, the shameful, the defiled. I was the other. I was the Frankenstein's Monster of whom everyone was fearful of and repulsed by. I was the monster in the movies in which I'd found solace. And this is what hurt me worst of all. *** It's interesting – many creative people have some kind of mental illness. And while I don't like the term 'tortured artist', I find I am my most creative when I am at my lowest, and I highly doubt I would be as creative as I am had I not experienced depression from my epilepsy or developed BPD. Vincent Van Gogh (30 March 1853– 29 July 1890) is one of the most famous 'tortured artists', with his paintings – bold, dramatic, and expressive – some of the most famous and expensive artworks in the world. Not commercially successful until after his death, his struggles with severe depression, psychotic episodes, delusions, poverty, and several years in psychiatric hospitals led to his suicide at thirty-eight (he is believed to have shot himself in the chest with a revolver, dying from his injuries two days later.) In life, Van Gogh was deemed a madman and a failure, and it was only in the ensuing decades after his death people recognised his artistic genius. While I am no Van Gogh, I have had the pleasure to be relatively successful and known in my creative field. However, it doesn't make my impostor syndrome or BPD any easier. It does, however, give me glimmers of hope that one day I may write something that will be commercially successful. Howard Phillips Lovecraft (20 August 1890 – 15 March 1937) is another example of a creative genius who also died never knowing how much his creativity impacted horror literature, and by extent, the world. Throughout his life, Lovecraft was never able to support himself as an author and editor. Though he was born to a wealthy family, after his father was institutionalised for general paresis (a severe neuropsychiatric disorder caused by chronic meningoencephalitis leading to cerebral atrophy in late-stage syphilis) in 1893, he and his mother moved in with his less financially stable aunt and grandparents. During this time, he grew close to his grandfather, who introduced him to not only classic literature and poetry but also 'weird tales' of 'winged horrors' and 'deep, low, moaning sounds' which he created for his young grandchild's entertainment. In 1896, Lovecraft's grandmother died, and at the young age of five, he began to have nightmares of beings he referred to as 'night-gaunts', and began experiencing what is now known as atypical depression. By the 1900s Lovecraft's grandparents' fell into an economic spiral, his mother was institutionalised in 1919 for being 'permanently stricken with grief', and from then on Lovecraft's life went downwards. Over the years, Lovecraft had many publications in pulp magazines and kept correspondence with dozens of other people, including notable writers, however, he was unable to keep stable employment, and relied on his writing to live. While he married the pulp fiction writer Sonia Greene (who only a few years earlier had dated Alistair Crowley), and relied on her income to support his writing, after their marriage ended (the pair lived apart and agreed to an amicable divorce), and his literary career declined, he spiralled into a deep depression, unable to write any longer. Shortly after having written his last original short story, The Haunter of the Dark, he stated the negative reception of the now-famous At the Mountains of Madness had done 'more than anything to end my effective fictional career'. After months of pain, for which he refused to seek treatment due to his fear of doctors, Lovecraft died from terminal intestinal cancer in 1937. While he was virtually unknown during his lifetime and was almost exclusively published in pulp magazines before his death, but is now regarded as one of the most significant 20th-century authors of supernatural horror fiction. His work is studied in universities, depicted in TV shows, films, and video games; bands write entire concept albums about his Cthulhu Mythos; entire religions and occultists are inspired by his work; his correspondence between himself and other authors amount to almost 100,000 letters, all about a variety of topics, from weird fiction and art criticism to politics and history. His legacy has endured. And it can be said that perhaps none of it would exist without his childhood night terrors, without his family's economic downfall, the institutionalisation and death of his parents, and his failed marriage. Lovecraft's life was a cycle of one bad thing after another, yet it made a positive impact on his writing. He created an entirely new genre - cosmic horror. However he, like Van Gough, lived a life of poverty and depression, never knowing how much they would impact the future of art and literature. *** My husband is antisocial, anti-religious, and because he makes jokes about all religions, people assume he is racist or antisemitic. However, he also has BPD and is one of the most honest people I know. He said, and I quote: 'you're an insignificant piece of carbon in a universe that wouldn't notice or care when you're gone. It won't give a shit and will continue for billions of years after you just as it did before. When you realise that's how little you matter it's easy to get on with life, and so easy to make jokes about being dead.' It's obvious his favourite author is HP Lovecraft, right? He, too, has struggled in the workplace, and after dabbling a little in painting, he's now directed his attention towards cooking. He plants to start a small business selling jams and hot sauces. He's also rather good at making bread. Like me, he is unable to keep a job, despite the fact our symptoms appear very differently. But he discovered a way to accept it father quicker than I have. When I was fired, he was sympathetic and told me to dedicate my life to what I am good at – writing. He told me nothing happens when someone is offended – they said they didn't like you? Fine. But that doesn't change who you are as a person. He told me quite bluntly I was a little weird but said that shouldn't matter. Workplaces are supposed to accept and embrace differences, for the world would be boring if everyone was the same. He's always encouraged my writing and given me many ideas to work with. He introduced me to Lovecraft's work via audio-book and suggested I try writing cosmic horror. My husband is incredibly nihilistic, but he's also logical, practical, and while he doesn't read all of my work, he will read paragraphs here and there, listens to me talk about my current works in progress, and gives me ideas, many of which are things I'd never have realised or thought of without his help. Because of my husband's encouragement, I designed and ordered author business cards, several copies of my 2018 collection 'Metamorphosis' (IFWG Publishing) for conventions and stalls, and I'm currently looking at buying a corflute and banner. Yes, I have been blessed to have met a wonderful author friend who is excellent at promoting herself and has given me amazing advice and encouragement on how to present myself and have people buy my work, but I often find myself in the fight or flight mode when it comes to my writing – will people buy my books? Am I deserving to be promoted? Is buying promotional material for myself at conventions and stalls a waste of money? Am I a waste of money? What is my value? And what does value mean, anyway? 'Fitting attitude (FA) theories propose to analyse value, or some limited range of values, in terms of evaluative attitudes endorsed as fitting—or, alternatively, as appropriate, correct, merited, proper, rational, or warranted.' So, what is 'good' is 'desirable.' According to them, I was 'good on paper', but not a good fit for them. I was good, but not desirable. Kind of like Van Gogh and HP Lovecraft. *** Horror builds communities, where like-minded people can be accepted for simply being their authentic selves. Many of us who love horror are 'outsiders' to a certain degree, in that our 'real-life' friends and family aren't as passionate as the darker shades of life as we are. United, we can share our experiences and know we are valued and appreciated, which can be especially helpful when people feel ostracised from the 'real world'. Horror isn't simply a genre, it's an outlet for us to escape from our own lives, whether they be positive or negative. Not all of us as depressed or struggle with mental illness, but a vast majority do, and it's a relief to be part of a community in which we feel wanted and valued. As kids, monsters are the ones that live under our beds, but as adults, often the monsters are the struggles we face every day within the world of which we feel we do not belong. Horror isn't being chased by an axe-wielding madman – it's the feeling of isolation we get when we feel we don't belong. Horror isn't seeing a ghost in your family's ancestral home – it's the shame of feeling different. Horror isn't an emaciated hand rising from a grave – it's the anxiety we feel in moments of pure terror when we are told nobody likes us and an Uber is waiting to take us home. The end, goodbye, see you never. And it's the fear of not knowing when my mental illness will negatively impact my life, and people will realise I am different from them. Thinking back, I genuinely believe I didn't do anything 'creepy' or say anything that would make people uncomfortable. But maybe they sensed some horror within me? Maybe they knew something about me I don't? Maybe they see through the mask? Maybe I am a monster? Maybe it doesn't really matter? Whatever the case, I'll keep writing. And while I don't know if I'm quite there yet in my therapy to completely dismiss being told nobody likes me, I'm working on making sure it doesn't affect me as much or change who I am as a person. I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but most people drink coffee anyway. Or energy drinks. Lots and lots of energy drinks. Wait, that's me. Shoot. Maybe I am a monster after all? The End Further Reading MARGINALISATION, AND THE FUTURE OF HORROR BY CLAIRE FITZPATRICK GRIEF AND HORROR: WHEN MONSTERS ARE YOUR FRIENDS BY CLAIRE FITZPATRICK BORDERLINE PERSONAL DISORDER: WHEN PSYCHOPATHY HELPS YOUR SUCCESS AS A WRITER BY CLAIRE FITZPATRICK Claire Fitzpatrick Claire Fitzpatrick is an award-winning author of speculative fiction and non-fiction. She won the 2017 Rocky Wood Award for Non-Fiction and Criticism. Called ‘Australia’s Queen Of Body Horror’ and ‘Australia’s Body Horror Specialist,’ she enjoys writing about anatomy and the darker side of humanity. Her debut collection ‘Metamorphosis,’ hailed as ‘simply heroic,’ is out now from IFWG Publishing. She’s currently studying a Masters degree at the University of Queensland. She lives with her partner, her daughter, and her cat Cthulhu somewhere in Queensland. Visit her at www.clairefitzpatrick.net/. Facebook: https://facebook.com/witch.of.eldritch Instagram: wetoo.arestardust Twitter: CJFitzpatrick1991 Website: www.clairefitzpatrick.net/ Metamorphosis: A Collection of Short Stories |
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