Why I’m as Impervious to Praise as Winchesters Are to Death

Why I’m as Impervious to Praise as Winchesters Are to Death

Casifer snaps his fingers to disintegrate an angel into a red mist
Casifer: Me. Red mist: praise.

This is the (rather overdue) follow-up to The Painful Paradox of Being a 250-Pound Fangirl in a $250 Photo Op. I meant to write this a couple weeks ago, but then the cast of Supernatural had to go and announce the show’s imminent ending, so obviously I had to react to and write about that first. I had just searched and saved the screencap at the top of this post a mere two hours before J2M’s infamous announcement video was posted to Instagram and Twitter. And I’m sure I haven’t said everything I want to say about Supernatural ending, but that’s another post for another day.

Today, I’m talking about praise—specifically, my complete inability to accept praise and internalize it as a reason to feel pride, joy, and satisfaction. Instead, I simply say a flat, insincere “thank you” and then tune it right out as if it never happened.

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