I’ve questioned many times how lonely I am and I live hoping for some sort of genuine sense of connection. You can’t replace that, you can’t replace that dream person, who never even shows up in my dreams. But, if arts are like language- if they invoke feelings- what’s not to say it’s a form of communication? It’s sad how indirect communication, communication from the dead even, makes me feel more connected with something than… actually spending time with people.
But I suppose if art reflects humanity or captures a vision, I feel more connected to my idea of humanity than humanity itself. It’s not really a stretch to say I’m a misanthrope, not in the sense of holding hatred to every person I see (hark, I rarely find real hatred anymore), but disappointment- how many times I’ve thought and said I wish I weren’t human, because it’s so difficult and I’m lonely and surrounded by people who choose to make things more difficult. Even for themselves. How many times I had to hear my mother complain about her weight, not even bad weight, when her diet and “cheat days” were her own choice and I showed her better. I’m tired of people seeing better and not adopting it when it’s resonance, making excuses that get in their own way… I’m too guilty of that. Alas, that’s a single thing that bothers me about people. If I only ever thought about those annoyances and pieces of noise and my neighbourhood, living itself would be insufferable. I would see people so cynically. But, I’m disappointed things are this way instead.
(Humanity itself versus my idea of it? I’ll only ever perceive “my idea of it”, even if someday that were to change, as it has already.)
Some of my ideals do feel like settling, but I try to see that as doing the best I can with the cards I‘m dealt. Others have worse, but these are poor cards. I tried so hard to reach for better cards- maybe I picked one or two up, but it’s about playing with what I have right now.
What does being “strong” mean on its own? It often sounds like an excuse coming from others… the sentiment depends on who it comes from, I suppose. When I look at myself as strong I feel good about it- when my psychologist says that, same- some people saying it when they hear my story can feel pitiful. I think a strength I hold is to deny being bogged down by those kind of negative sentiments borne from cynicism, considering and allowing but not being swallowed by them. It’s taken about a decade of active work now, as I look back. The scale of that effort looking back is humbling, sobering, comforting. This isn’t the first time I’ve looked back and been happy with my progress, but… I needed it as it is right now so badly, to be proud of myself, to be happy with what I’ve done for myself.
I’ve come to see everything as ephemeral and the last year or so of my life has strongly reinforced the idea.
Maybe someday I can share my sentiment with someone who can, in turn hold a conversation with me over these kinds of things, and who I feel close enough to understand and feel attached to. Someone who mutually teaches me, not someone who is just listening and taking from me, or who just feels like an acquaintance.
Am I looking to fill some checkboxes? I get tired of myself. I thought I had someone like that in my life, they were a liar.
When I came back to music… it bought me back to my old ideals. It bought me back to myself and gave me hope again. That’s why I thank you.
Whoever said wisdom comes not from knowing answers, but knowing how to stand when things are uncertain- thank you. Another indirect communication that makes me feel better about who I want to be, makes me a pinch less lonely. Thank whoever inspired them. Whoever let things align this way.
Things are ephemeral… thoughts… ideas. I admire that idea in itself.
I lost everything I had and everything that made me. The ephemeral can be painful, it can destroy a person. I’m amazed that I survived, I am born again. Thinking that’s cheesy if I look back, or that I wasted my breath in the likely chance I still won’t “get that connection”, is just losing my admiration for some sentiment and feeling I held as I type it
. And that’s ok. Pretty, even. I can admire that the moment came and went. As I am right now. Perhaps in the future I’ll be dead inside again, see this sentiment again and cry, perhaps I’ll be born again again. That’s living.
I’ve almost died at least five times now. I have an interesting relation with both literal and spiritual death.
The person who betrayed me once said I really am like Raven, dying and coming back as someone new. I love looking at the positive sentiments they shared without being bogged down by the thought of them… simply what those sentiments mean to me. I’m not obligated toward the person.
I thought of… choosing to spend time with people. Trying to reply. Little things. If I’m putting in that effort and reaching out I can think of myself doing that, having fun. Being a little less lonely and proud of myself. How cheesy indeed.
”Metanoia” is my favorite word. It pervades all existence. Thank you for that word. Hail.
