#beartrap

like, sure, i succeded at constructing any semblance of a self at all, no matter how abstract or shitty it is

but thats shouldnt be hard. it shouldnt be this hard to know what i look like, to make something that is even vaugely reminiscent of me, that isnt her. its still infuriating. im still mad.

i am the beartrap girl. but i look on the mirror and thats not what i see. and there has to be at least some acknowledgement of that. and its just not happening. and sometimes i think im not the beartrap girl. what then? whats left? what am i?

nothing

and attempts to rectify this, to bridge that gap, all are failing. i hate it. all that happens is her, that beast, conjured on my page over and over and over and over and THATS NOT ME THATS NOT FUCKING ME GO AWAY and it doesnt i cant

"i am the beartrap girl" is about literary analysis, its iconography, its themes, its my past and how its shaped me. it is not what i look like. it is not a cage. i will not let it be. it is a part of myself. it is not all of myself. i wont let it be.

whenever i look in the mirror and see someone else, something else, that cannot be properly expressed when the baseline against which it is compared is so abstracted from me. fake vs fake, there is no change, the meaning on display is altered fundamentally in ways i cannot remedy while using the beartrap girl.

i need a face to convey the real, the tangible, the felt, the grounded. So when i break from that it is noticable, it is felt. beartrap is abstract and poetics. i am the horror of being alive. it is not the same and needs to be conveyed. it needs to be different.

i used to have something to fill this role. i dont look like that now. ive changed so much in so many ways. that thing isnt me. maybe it once was. it isnt. and it hasnt been replaced. i keep having that happen, dont i. my anchors to reality get left behind and i dont realize until far too late. for so long the only concept i had of what i looked like was based on elementary school. it was just the last time i had any clue what i looked like. and it stays uninterrogated, unaltered, for over a decade. until i realize and freak out and freak out because what do you mean i dont know what i look like? i seem mirrors every day how do i not know. how. HOW WAS IT SO LONG AGO. and an updated version is made and the cycle is doomed to repeat.

i hate walking past a mirror and not seeing me

or worse, seeing me, but not now

and i entered the fucking vent art mindspace and got crushed and killed under the weight of not knowing what i am, what i look like, anything. how do i draw me. and i cant solve that riddle maybe i never will

i hate it all