Now, to be honest, some of these I've mentioned before but I think I really haven't for others. Another calamity of self-confidence I haven't shared yet is the String Art Clown incident.
Back when I was maybe about 12-years-old or so I was returning home from somewhere (school? the woods? I don't remember) and this older kid (maybe in his early teens?) started following me and teasing me. This happened a lot when I was a kid. Not sure if it was my animated behavior (i.e. early flaming queen syndrome LOL) or awkward geekiness (being a gay nerd can be rough on a kid) but bullies always targeted me.
This kid though, just wouldn't let it go. He was bold enough to come right into our driveway as I scurried into the house. From there he yelled up to the windows and demanded I come out and fight him. I know my father wasn't home 'cause he would have scared the little fuck away if he was and if mom was home, she wasn't around to run to I guess. (In hindsight I guess we kids were home alone that day. They didn't do it often since they didn't trust me as the oldest to be put "in charge," but they may have left us to be latchkey kids on this day.)
In any event, somehow my sister got involved in this by coming to my defense. No, not by being a bull dyke and kicking this punk's ass. That iteration of her had yet to fully express itself at this time. She just yelled back at the kid through the open windows and started saying why this kid should leave me alone. One of the things she told him was that I was a good artist. The bully, unconvinced by just her say so demanded proof and so she went and got a school art project I'd done.
Now if my recollection isn't entirely at fault, by this time in my life I had completed in my 6th grade art class at least two artworks which I was pretty proud of. A simple yet clean-lined and fairly well drafted (for my age) egg tempera painting of a house on fire and firemen working to put it out (I think it was for some safety themed project) and my seminal pre-teen piece: the incredibly complex and imaginative pencil drawing of lower Manhattan and New York harbor laminated in plastic.
But rather than either of these, she grabbed some art project I'd done maybe back in 3rd or 4th grade? not sure, but it was a very simple and childish drawing of a clown in string art. I hated it but I guess my parents liked it if it was still around.
She showed it to the kid and he softly chuckled, shook his head and quietly left. I was dumbstruck. My later, summed-up impression of this was that the kid had either thought I was much younger than I looked or that I was a complete fucking retard.
Fast-forward to the present and my mood as of late and I'm stingingly reminded of that mixture of humiliation and defeat I felt that day. Lately I've been looking back at what few accomplishments I've made in my life and they just seem pitifully half-assed and extremely sub-par. I can't point to one thing I've done (or so I am compelled to believe) that I'm proud of when I'm feeling this way.
So "Sad SAC" stands for Sad String Art Clown. A reminder that you can blow hot air up your ass only so long before you or someone else slaps you out of your delusion. You're nothing special, buddy. You're one stupid small being in a sad small world in a meaningless, cold and indifferent universe.
But fret not. I'm not reaching for the razor blades just yet. I'm just muddling through it. I'll see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. Besides, I haven't come up with a snazzy name for some kind of suicidal ideation crisis. Hopefully I'll never have to.