Not a fraud, not a bastard, I just don’t know what the word is I’m really looking for. Read on to learn more!
After a long period of disconnection due to obversable negative detrimental effects, I’ve gotten back on a dating app (this one seems less shit) because I know one of the reasons I have no fucking resilience is that I lack several key things required for human happiness (as I’m sure many here do), one of which is physical and interpersonal intimacy. But something’s different from last time. In addition to the expectation that nothing will come of any of the few conversations I have going (one cancelled last minute on a meeting today and it was already only going to be platonic), I feel like my being fucked up as I am is somehow making what I’m doing there super dishonest. Everyone has these literally picture perfect versions of their lives which I know are all fraudulent, but I’m included in the equation – I don’t want to broadcast my mental and physical ailments because who the hell is going to be interested in that? Humans need to already have formed an attachment to deal with that kind of baggage but I won’t be able to keep it secret long enough. And the feeling of being bailed on because of something like that, well…I’d rather save myself the time and energy if that’s how something will end up. And on the other hand, I don’t want someone to become attached to these damaged goods just so I can feel better. I even feel bad making friends given this but I make the effort because I don’t want to feel like wanting not to be alive all the time, and friends help. Shit.
Shakespeare was wrong, man. Better indeed to have never loved at all. Those born blind can’t pine for the visible world no longer accessible to them – they’re just living life as they’ve always known it. The fact that I once felt on top of the world, that I could deal with things that now lead me to spend most of a day laying in my bed…I year to be that person again, and also hate that I ever was. I can hardly believe it; it feels like another life, a stranger almost. Looking out at a lovely sunset the other day, I realised how cruel the loss of potential is, and how it’s inherent in life. There is this inherent-seeming malevolence to it all, at least as a human. Do animals, bugs, plants feel this way? What a curse to be a human.
I don’t want to talk to my closest friends after – once again, despite my communicating it and it being an entirely new set of friends this time – were totally absent during the recent month that may have been one of the worst ever for me. A deep internal darkness despite my immediate surroundings being relatively illuminated; a novel combination for me. I don’t want to have some shitty performative phone or zoom call – I want to exist with someone in real time who I can physically communicate with, not have to bullshit about how bullshit I’ve felt, or just fucking lie about it. Ugh.
I think the dissolution of the structure this post had in my mind at the start means it’s time to wrap it up. Thanks for reading, if you did.