I understand the idea of something from nothing. Things don't need to come into being with the fanfare of explosion; or at the very least, the explosion isn't seeded from nothingness. It comes from darkness, pressure, and time. I'm in an infinity loop.
There's something very comfortable and absorbant about being in shock. Something that removes you from the damage and makes you feel like things are okay. Eventually though, your body trusts that you're no longer in danger and permits itself the right to freak the fuck out. It's violent, ugly, and painful.
And that's where I am now. I've been blessedly distracted for the past few weeks, and all of a sudden I was safe enough to feel. I've been crying a lot when I'm alone. Change is nature's caffeine pill and I barely sleep. I don't really know how to talk to anyone about what I'm going through. Any time I bring it up I can't help but feel maudlin and incredibly bored with myself. I'm fifteen again. I don't want anyone's help, I just want to be fine with it.
There's moments in sadness that are silly and trite; I've had Tom Petty's Free Fallin' stuck in my head for days. Then there's moments of pure self destructive frustration. I feel like I'm shedding something, and it's unpleasant and private. Being around my friends is harder than the melt downs I have by myself.
Jokes have been both a crutch and a bridge for me; being able to make fun of things isn't just how I deal with things, but how I come to understand them. It's the only format I have to process things in my life that isn't terrifying or difficult. It's worked so far, and it's helped me get to know and connect with other people. At the end of it all, that's all I want. Seems strange that my only instinct right now is to disconnect as far as possible. Sadness is a retreat. I can't make this funny. I can't make anything funny at the moment.
All I want is to push through this and come up with something great; I want to make people laugh about this, but I can't do that myself. I'm struggling with a lot of self hatred and more than anything I don't know how to admit that to people. I want a moral to the story. I want a silver lining. So far I've turned up empty.
I resent myself for writing this. I wanted to write about the idea of fear as entertainment, something more light and thoughtful and in line with Halloween. I'm a little consumed by this, and I hate myself for that.
I am grateful for the friends I have and the support they offer but I have no idea what to do with it. Something about it doesn't feel safe. As much as the idea of vulnerability between people who care about each other appeals to me, I'm left pretty inexperienced in my own personal follow through. It's not that I don't show people when I feel weak, I never developed those traits. It's that I don't feel better for it; being comforted only seems to add some kind of further anger that I don't have terms for. I hate the way I feel and I hate showing it to people, and if they try to help, I get angrier because they're somehow aiding that feeling I hate.
That's the loop; anger, sadness. Hatred, self pity. The cliche about the stages of loss are applicable but certainly lacking in comfort.
I don't think that this is who I'll be for the rest of my life, not all the time anyway. These insecurities were here before and now they've been pushed up, little blackheads of character that I'd been masking and insisting would go away. Their effect on my personality is amplified by this theatre of grief where I've been practicing my good front. I know I'll be fine. Trying to manage my emotions while maintaining some sense of maturity and not throwing my life into some nihilistic abyss is the tricky part.
I don't know how to go through this. I just am and it fucking sucks.
September sprinted to the finish. October was a rocket ship, but something went wrong, and I crashed, stopped dead. It seems ineffably human that time moves faster or slower at an inverse rate to your own happiness. I wish it could be a simple harmony, that one was a direct result of the other; experience a quick life and it will be joyful, live forever and you'll be miserable. I think I know what we'd all pick. Maybe we do, in a way. We struggle to find a medium between how much time we have and how much we deserve to enjoy it.
This may not make sense to you, and I'm not sure what I'm trying to say just yet.
I never want to write things that are personal here. This is the internet, after all, and you, whoever you are that is reading this, might not be someone I want to see what I'm feeling inside. But recently the barriers I've built not only burst, they started reaching out.
In plain language, I ended my relationship. I had been with him for eight years. I rewrote this sentence a few times, saying something vague about loss and change, but as vague as I like to be, it's never helped me.
Relationships seem bizarre to anyone who's outside them. See any two people who aren't in the first couple months of their intimacy and you'll probably see the cracks, you'll peg, in your mind, whether or not they can make it. That way, if it doesn't work out, you can say you saw it all along, hindsight bias at its finest. If they do, it's often a matter of time. There are a few exceptions to this way of thinking, the ones who really seem like they're going to "make it", whatever that means
Pull yourself into a relationship with another person and that false (and it is false, no matter how intuitive you may be--you're not in control) objectivity dissapates. You want to make things work. You begin to build something together. Yes, there may be cracks, but everything requires maintenance, and if you both care about it you will make it better. We think of these things not only as feasible, but easy if you're with the right person. When it comes to our relationships, we put little emphasis on the individual goals of the people inside them and how painful that can make things.
One of the strangest pressures that kept me with my boyfriend was this idea that other people thought we'd "made it", we proved the fairy tales right. We were together and we were happy, we communicated with each other, or so we thought, our fights were cooperative, we were supportive. We loved each other, right down to the end of it. Still do. Jay never asked me to change, he accepted my dark and strange nature. I never asked him to change, and I accepted the way he was. There was nothing wrong with us. We were the exception that proved the rule. I don't think anyone saw us together and saw cracks in our foundation. The basis of our relationship was trust and respect, and still is. The thing that killed it was that I didn't want it.
I didn't end my relationship because I didn't like or love him. I didn't do it because we had trouble talking about our feelings. I did it because we diverged; taking different directions may either make perfect sense or be nonsense to you, but sometimes it's that simple. I didn't know what I wanted for a long time, and I was fortunate enough to be with someone who didn't mind letting me sort that out. Sadly for him, what I want, apparently, isn't a relationship.
I've said before, and it still holds true, that I feel like an outsider when it comes to any sort of social situation or method of bonding. I don't like to talk about my feelings. I'm trying to learn how to do that but I don't have language for it yet. It's pretty clear that not a lot of us do, we accumulate vocabulary from experience.
I'm hurting right now and I don't really know how to express it to anyone, but I'm trying. That's new for me, I've never tried before. Usually my feelings have to be extracted with great patience and tolerance for sarcasm and ad hominems. I don't even know why, really. I have always pushed for emotional honesty with my friends, and encouraged people to be open. I guess we've all had a moment where someone opens up to us and we can't handle it. Maybe part of learning to open up is understanding that being vulnerable isn't just about allowing yourself to get hurt, it's about being wrong occasionally, opening up to the wrong person and making them feel awkward. You'd think that wouldn't be such a perilous consequence but it's been enough to shut me up for years.
So here I am. I think the stages of grief work more like a stairmaster than some kind of mountain you climb up. You'll be working through them in an odd order, and sometimes you'll just run through the same two or three cycles before you give up and hop off.
As for Jay, I wish him the best; he helped me become a better person, made me want to be a better person and showed me that was possible. It got to the point where I was planning to be miserable with him until I died at some point rather than just get out. Because that's fair right, forcing someone to love your miserable ass while you nod weakly and drift out during conversation like you're doing them some sort of favor?
This isn't as linear as I'd like to be. My head isn't very clear. If I weren't behind on my writing I'd take some time to edit this, but welcome to the internet. Up to the minute and full of flaws. It's funny, you don't realize that repressing yourself is in some ways not a conscious action; you can trick yourself into being apathetic or cut off without consciously doing it. Emotions are for another time and place. I stayed in my relationship long after I realized it was over because I didn't want to do it at a "bad time", as if there's such thing as the perfect day to break up with someone.
I've been thinking a lot lately about traps, the ones we set for ourselves and for other people. One of the ones I like to set for myself involves hyperbole. It's easy to tell you I'm upset if I frame it as the end of the world, because that's laughable, and then I can laugh and golly gee, isn't laughter great? Telling jokes has allowed me to confront so many things without actually confronting them, and paradoxically it's also forced me to acknowledge that and actually start being a happier person.
It's a lot harder to feel, recognize, and express temporal emotion--
Oh yeah, temporal emotions.
Emotions might as well be another thread bound into space-time. I do not feel sad and eaten up about my breakup when I'm at work (for example, insert any other situation here if you like). I don't want to bring that sadness there with me if I don't have to. That's different than repression, that's immediacy. In that time and space, I'm in a different emotional field, and I'm fine with that. Suggesting that your situation effects you in every sphere is bizarre to me, and incredibly frustrating. Don't make me try to be sad because you think I'm having a sad time. It's independent because emotions have a connection to the time you're in.
--but I digress. Maybe I can touch on that sentiment some other time in an interesting way, but let's back up. It's harder to express a feeling that you're still working out the language for when you don't allow them nuance. You can be sad or angry without wanting to cry or kick a baby. You can be happy without smiling. For the most part, I feel very peaceful, even though sometimes things hurt in a way I don't know how to describe. And how I feel moment to moment doesn't seem to be influenced by my overall situation unless I sit down and merge them, which hasn't really been ideal. I don't see the need to, I don't know if that's me being avoidant to my feelings or just accepting a reality about myself. If I feel the overarching feeling touching the ones I have in the present, I will confront them, or at the very least acknowledge it's happening, which is harder than you'd think. But for now I'm not going to give them more merit or analysis (if you can believe that I don't) than they have at the time.
And at the end of everything, I'm okay.
About A Blog
I'm a Denver Comedian, occasional cartoonist and person of interest to someone, probably. These articles are really too long.