(no subject)
I visited Maxine last Friday. I hadn't seen her since the Tuesday before I left for school. In an hour, I caught her up on the four months of the biggest shift in my life. I made it sound pleasantly disruptive, as I usually do with adults--I went over all the conflicts and then laughed about them, realizing that they were "very stupid in retrospect." When I arrived at my first return home, I told her about how my dad made it a point to tell me that I am failing at making friends.
I raised my voice and stared at her and said, "Does he think I want to be alone?"
Then I blinked and stared at her books and we didn't say anything for a good thirty seconds, creating the most psychological moment of psychology I've had since the first few years of seeing her (it's been five). I almost cried but I didn't. That essentially sums up everything. I don't want to be alone, except that I am at the deepest levels, then grit my teeth and smile sardonically like it doesn't bother me. I've half-convinced myself that it doesn't. I like to withdraw.
I raised my voice and stared at her and said, "Does he think I want to be alone?"
Then I blinked and stared at her books and we didn't say anything for a good thirty seconds, creating the most psychological moment of psychology I've had since the first few years of seeing her (it's been five). I almost cried but I didn't. That essentially sums up everything. I don't want to be alone, except that I am at the deepest levels, then grit my teeth and smile sardonically like it doesn't bother me. I've half-convinced myself that it doesn't. I like to withdraw.