(no subject)
Today I decided to not care.
I was sitting in the pew listening to people talk about Memorial Day, and I had completely forgotten the point of the whole damn holiday, evidenced by how I had been taken by surprise by a couple of people thanking me for my service. I felt shame, and I hide behind the reason that the only reason people are thanking me now is because I'm not dodging bullets over in the sandbox. I get this privilege because other guys are sacrificing their prime time, and I feel like I deserve none of it. But really, I feel this way because I'm receiving compliments from people I don't really care about. It just reminds me how lonely this whole experience makes you...
So maybe today is a Coming To Jesus moment with myself, I don't know. This is where I looked at myself and said, "It's not as rosy and charming, eh?" Here I am, working way too much for some standard to which I'm not privy to be explained. I'm reduced to some god-forsaken caveman diet because of this body that I swear is attempting to develop a resistance to every convenience I come across. Seriously, I'm waiting for melanoma to surface since I'm obviously way too happy when I drive in the sunshine with the top down. I put on a face for churchy people because I know I'm an inherently lonely and strange person, and I want to pretend just for a little bit each week so I can participate in "normal people" things. I can't run for more than 30 minutes without excessive pain in my knees, and I'm clearly pretending it doesn't affect me since I still haven't dropped out of the marathon where I'm probably going to die at the beginning of June.
So life's kicking me in the junk. It sounds like it's kicking you in the junk too, since it's not too often ghosts of your past come to haunt you. That's why I try to move around so often. I'm fairly certain I have an expiration date with most people, so I like to change it up every so often. Thank you Navy. I love job.
Supposedly everybody in their twenties is going through this exact same thing, though. Have you seen the movie 50/50? I hooked on to that movie because near the end before his big surgery, Levitt just goes insane and starts driving his friend's Jeep the wrong way onto an off-ramp. When he finally stops, he just starts screaming into the steering wheel because he's drunk and scared about that hand life dealt him. And then furthermore he's scared shitless before the operation, and so is his mother, his friend, and his therapist.
I can't watch those scenes without some sort of evocative emotional response. I identify with those scenes, and while I have nothing as serious as cancer with a 50/50 shot of living more life, I am frustrated and angry and scared, and I want to scream into my steering wheel and admit that I don't know why this is all happening, but I've got to keep my shit together and say that everything's a-ok because that's what Naval Officers do. Cognitive dissonance, much? Yeah, and that's why I'm getting out.
The only reason I don't break down more often is because Alison makes me forget all of that. Her physical proximity allows me to think that it's ok to be me, just like someone did way back when I was seventeen. Before her, I just learned to keep a tough shell on at all times, keeping everyone at arm's distance. She's not going to leave or disappear, either. I can trust her in that. She's in San Francisco this weekend, so I guess I've reached that stage where I'm a mess without her. It's not usually this bad, I just have nothing to do this weekend, and naturally, this is the weekend my body decides to go all depressed on me.
That felt good though. Life sucks, but I've got people who care, no matter how much I try to think the opposite. And Alison, my god, she's never going to know how much she means to me. Maybe I'll find out how to show her one day.
I was sitting in the pew listening to people talk about Memorial Day, and I had completely forgotten the point of the whole damn holiday, evidenced by how I had been taken by surprise by a couple of people thanking me for my service. I felt shame, and I hide behind the reason that the only reason people are thanking me now is because I'm not dodging bullets over in the sandbox. I get this privilege because other guys are sacrificing their prime time, and I feel like I deserve none of it. But really, I feel this way because I'm receiving compliments from people I don't really care about. It just reminds me how lonely this whole experience makes you...
So maybe today is a Coming To Jesus moment with myself, I don't know. This is where I looked at myself and said, "It's not as rosy and charming, eh?" Here I am, working way too much for some standard to which I'm not privy to be explained. I'm reduced to some god-forsaken caveman diet because of this body that I swear is attempting to develop a resistance to every convenience I come across. Seriously, I'm waiting for melanoma to surface since I'm obviously way too happy when I drive in the sunshine with the top down. I put on a face for churchy people because I know I'm an inherently lonely and strange person, and I want to pretend just for a little bit each week so I can participate in "normal people" things. I can't run for more than 30 minutes without excessive pain in my knees, and I'm clearly pretending it doesn't affect me since I still haven't dropped out of the marathon where I'm probably going to die at the beginning of June.
So life's kicking me in the junk. It sounds like it's kicking you in the junk too, since it's not too often ghosts of your past come to haunt you. That's why I try to move around so often. I'm fairly certain I have an expiration date with most people, so I like to change it up every so often. Thank you Navy. I love job.
Supposedly everybody in their twenties is going through this exact same thing, though. Have you seen the movie 50/50? I hooked on to that movie because near the end before his big surgery, Levitt just goes insane and starts driving his friend's Jeep the wrong way onto an off-ramp. When he finally stops, he just starts screaming into the steering wheel because he's drunk and scared about that hand life dealt him. And then furthermore he's scared shitless before the operation, and so is his mother, his friend, and his therapist.
I can't watch those scenes without some sort of evocative emotional response. I identify with those scenes, and while I have nothing as serious as cancer with a 50/50 shot of living more life, I am frustrated and angry and scared, and I want to scream into my steering wheel and admit that I don't know why this is all happening, but I've got to keep my shit together and say that everything's a-ok because that's what Naval Officers do. Cognitive dissonance, much? Yeah, and that's why I'm getting out.
The only reason I don't break down more often is because Alison makes me forget all of that. Her physical proximity allows me to think that it's ok to be me, just like someone did way back when I was seventeen. Before her, I just learned to keep a tough shell on at all times, keeping everyone at arm's distance. She's not going to leave or disappear, either. I can trust her in that. She's in San Francisco this weekend, so I guess I've reached that stage where I'm a mess without her. It's not usually this bad, I just have nothing to do this weekend, and naturally, this is the weekend my body decides to go all depressed on me.
That felt good though. Life sucks, but I've got people who care, no matter how much I try to think the opposite. And Alison, my god, she's never going to know how much she means to me. Maybe I'll find out how to show her one day.