once in awhile there’s a sudden change in the path of your life. you don’t get any warning. you can see the horizon one minute and the next it’s all disappeared. it’s easy to call it unfair and move on, but that’s really never been my style. i don’t move on. i dwell. and where and when i can’t dwell, i fight. fighting usually leaves you with nothing, and that’s almost always been my experience, but there’s something about having nothing that’s remained familiar and true for me. it’s always been there. it’s never vanished before my eyes. i know how to deal with nothing. i know how to process it, how to take it and turn it into something else. i know how to live with it, carry it, nourish it.
what i’d really like is to come right out and say it. i’m teetering. there are people close to me who’ve almost heard it. not many, because there aren’t many close enough. but i’m about ready to spill. if it’s all about fighting i feel about ready to go. when i was younger i thought this was depression, but the recent spillage of light on some of my more complicated life situations has led me to believe otherwise. not that i have an answer.
i used to think i wanted a best friend. i used to regret shutting all my past best friends out. now i’d rather pay $1000 a month to some shrink who i don’t have to forge a real connection with because it makes better sense. therapists don’t see themselves as a part of your life later, when you’re done fighting. best friends are still there and you can’t just cancel a cheque and stop showing up. they expect things from you, like phone calls and texts and coffees in the market and every time i’ve tried for those friendships they haven’t really worked out. a dim room would be a lot nicer. you aren’t supposed to say that you want to see a psychiatrist unless you’re writing as a narrator, but i don’t really care.
it isn’t that i’m alone. it’s that i’m not alone enough.
it’s impossible to bring up because it’s not fathomable. it’s offensive and hurtful. i’ve always somehow been offensive and hurtful. it’s not intentional. it’s a particular reality that no one should really have to face. it isn’t bad for you, it’s bad for everyone around you. i’m dwelling because to fight one more time would be catastrophic. i can’t do that anymore. i have to be adult and everything. i can’t keep leaving things (people, but whatever) behind in the dirt and expecting them to deal with it themselves. responsibility etcetera. for my actions and all that.
in the end i know what i want. i was asked this past week and thought that i didn’t know, but it’s always been the same. i want to be alone. i want that notebook and pen notebook and pen thing. i want that sleeping on a naked mattress thing. i want that rented apartment noodle dinner thing. it’s the hardest thing in the world to want. especially when you have all the rest of it.
isolationism. you know?
sometimes you just have to go to that other chair.
