I’m really happy about this new year. For the first time New Years really means something to me. 2001 was a bad time for me, I think. I mean, all these things happened to me that appear quite glamorous and exciting, but I’ve always found love of life in the smallest and simplest of moments. Simplicity was lost in 2001.

You know when I’m the most happy? When I’m sitting at a kitchen table with friends whom I love unconditionally and love me just the same. (this includes my family.) I love talking about insignificant things that make you think. I love laughing as hard as I laugh when I’m with those friends. No awards show or television show or TV special can compare to that.

2001 was when I forgot who I was, but somehow had to articulate how I felt. That’s a scary combination. Everything I did seemed like I was doing it for someone else. Everything I said was for anyone to hear. I lost my ability to be spontaneous, and I do regret that.

I hung out with Fasano tonight, and we had a nice, long discussion about how I felt over this past year. He asked if I regretted doing the show. Obviously, I like an kind of experience because of the personal growth that follows. I learned something about the public, media, and fame that I would never have had the opportunity to truly learn otherwise. Problem is, I don’t know if I liked what I learned, and now blissful ignorance in that department seems quite appealing.
I believe that people in the public have a responsibility to their fans. One has the right to live a private life, but when the sign up for whatever train that rides them into a celebrity spotlight, the mandatory luggage includes giving attention to those who became your audience. People enter the business to entertain, whether it be through reality shows, or films, or music albums. However, that person does not become nothing else but an entertainer. That person is still a person who has his own life to live.

I am not a celebrity because I am not being celebrated for an accomplishment. I dedicated my time to sharing my thoughts and actions with a viewing public. I guess that earns the term “famous,” but I feel so cocky and lame using that word. I describe it as just a few more people knowing who I am. However, part of the reason why I felt so isolated and unhappy the second half of last year was because of this fame-thing. I know I’m no Britney or Tom Hanks when it comes to fame, but I do have people out there who seem to care a little about who I am.

Truthfully, I get scared. I like attention, but I like earning it. I like attention when I am on a stage performing. I like attention when I’m telling a funny story to a room of friends. I feel uncomfortable, paranoid, and a bit scared when I get attention from just walking down the street. I’m not saying that I hate it when I’m approached, but sometimes I feel this strange responsibility to someone who approaches me, like I’m supposed to start tap dancing or something for them. It’s not that scenario that really makes me scared, it’s when a fan makes a demand on me as if I owe him something.

After the VMAs, I was outside Beyonce’s birthday party with Coral waiting to see if O Town could get in (because we were tagging along with them.) There was this fan outside that had his camera out and his notebook ready to be signed. When Lance Bass walked out, he smiled at the crowd and then ran off to his car to be taken home. This fan was screaming at him. He wasn’t asking Lance to sign his book or to smile for his camera, he was demanding it in such a tone that I a bit disturbed by him. “Ugh! He NEVER stops to talk to me and take a picture with me. He’s such as asshole.” I was so angry at this guy. Why does Lance owe you personally time to become your new best friend? Because you bought his album? I thought to myself. I understand wanting attention and acknowledgement from someone you enjoy being entertained by, but this kid wasn’t asking for attention, he felt like he damn well deserved it. Eminem’s song became clearer and clearer to me. There are a lot of Stans out there, and honestly, that scares me to death.

I think that many people out there are very kind. I wouldn’t have a website if I wasn’t somewhat comfortable with having this type of relationship with people who have watched the show. It is a strange feeling, like I just became a big sister to several thousand teenagers. I’m used to being the baby in the family, so I guess I’m not that good at being an older sis.

Empathy is the most important quality a human could have. We are not alone in this world. We share a very small planet with quite a few people, and if we don’t try to understand each other and work through differences of opinion, then this world won’t last very long. You cannot tell someone to understand where you’re coming from if you do not make any effort to understand where they are coming from. This boy did not think about what Lance had to do or how he felt, he only cared about what he wanted and believed Lance should have understood that. That is why I was so upset.

A boy yelled at me today for not giving him my phone number. He told me he wanted to be my friend and he was furious that I did not welcome him into my life. I have to tell you honestly that it made me feel vulnerable and frightened. When I apologized for not speaking to him more online and explained to him that I was going through some rough times while the show was airing and I reacted by isolating myself from the world, instead of trying to understand what it was like to be nationally scrutinized to a point of an identity-crisis, he said, “Well, you better GET USED TO IT!” This is coming from someone who wants to be my friend? I have no friends who would ever say that to me, and I’m not about to start having friends who would now.

I wasn’t a good famous-type. If you read my past entries, you can see that I was having a really hard time with myself. I didn’t like myself very much. A lot of that did come from the inside of me, but a lot came from the outside world as well. For someone who cares way too much what other people think of me, it was the hardest thing on earth to know that the internet was plagued with various sites making fun of how desperate I looked, how thin my hair is, how bad my voice is. It killed me. Then even the positive comments started to hurt me. I couldn’t read my fan mail. I didn’t want to disappoint the people who wrote to me, but I couldn’t keep up. It would take all day to answer the mail, and then I’d have to wake up to a whole new batch to spend all day answering again. If I didn’t write a fan twice or three times, then they would write a nasty email about how mean I was when I was just trying to finish answering everybody. But it wasn’t just that. It was so strange to hear all these compliments from these strangers. All these people thought they knew who I was, and it was that thought that made me lose my grounding. It’s not that I didn’t understand because I’ve felt that way about all the other Real Worlders of the past, but it didn’t matter. It was happening to me, and that was the strangest part. I couldn’t even handle the compliments because I didn’t feel they were deserved. How could someone tell me I’m a wonderful person if they didn’t even know me? The identity-crisis thickened, and now I was a bad famous person on top of all the other shit that was emotionally draining me.

So, I withdrew. I couldn’t hold the weight of the world’s opinions of me. I had to forget about it and refocus on myself so that I could remember why I love myself. I stopped writing to fans altogether. I stopped checking the mailbox completely. I stopped reading the message boards. I stopped talking about the show. I only spent time at my friend’s apartments when I went out. I tried my hardest to shrink my life back down to size. It was only then that I began to remember myself.

Thing is, I couldn’t give to fans because I had nothing left to give. I gave my whole half of a year to the world, I needed the second half back to me. I resented the world too much for trying to get something from me. I had to take time to rebuild myself, to regain some strength so that I could like myself enough to care about anyone else. I fully believe in that saying that you can’t love another until you love yourself. I couldn’t be good to fans until I took care of my own emotional, spiritual, and rational self. Now that I feel strong again, now that I have confidence, I was ready to begin this website. It’s a new and beautiful year. And I cannot wait to live life and stop hiding in my purple bedroom.