(no subject)
i've spent so much time being sad in the name of finding myself. even before R came into my life, i've always dealt with that sweeping sadness. i don't want a life of blind happiness, but this sadness is so stagnating at this point.
it's in the walls of my apartment. it's in the mail i don't open, in the plates on the floor. and now, with one of the things that brought me joy in my life gone (yes, the stress will be gone too, but so will the nights of staying up until 4 a.m. laughing hysterically, and taking pictures, and surfing the internet, or playing with our set of characters, and watching movies), i feel empty.
i've never been one for forced joy. or expected joy. the people who tell me they had such a nice weekend with her sister and the baby--i'm trying to picture myself spending two days straight with anyone but R, and i can't picture it. i would go nuts. the people whose birthday party invite lists are a mile long--is that joy? having a bunch of people whose main qualification for being a friend is that you two like each other is weird to me. i like plenty of people. that doesn't mean i connect with them. if i wanted to have a fabulous birthday bash, i'm sure i could throw together an invitation list that would fill a good-sized room. i know plenty of people i like, and who like me back, and they would come, and we would hug and chat, and maybe then i would feel joy.
but i don't think so. i think i'd wind up with a headache, like i so often do when i'm trying to be on someone else's level. and hell, even the people who i honestly enjoy, i get those headaches with. i get tired of smiling. i get tired of placating the other person, which is so often what i do instead of asserting what i really think. i'll coach it in acceptable terms, i'll nod and agree, and while it's not exactly fake, it's not exactly real. it's not exactly me. and so i look forward to nights of drinking with people i like, because the beer takes off my veneer of politeness, and i can come home feeling like i was existing for me.
ha--reading this, a stranger would think of me as downright demure, or a caretaker. i'm not either. i can be downright cold to people who care about me--the number of people i've alienated over the years has gotten large. i'm fine with some of those, and i feel like shit about others. while i'm not a caretaker, that also means it's rare for someone to take care of me.
i just want people i can relax with. but it takes a helluva lot of time to cultivate a relationship during which you can truly relax. it took R and i months. i'm still not there with J, but i'm getting closer. S is probably the closest i have to that as far as platonic friends, but she lives on the other coast, so it's not like i get to exercise that option.
i used to picture myself in a group of people who were creative slackers. we'd have talks that were alternately hysterical, layered and complex, cynical. we'd all be each other's defaults--i'd know that unless i'd heard otherwise, people would be available on saturday night or whatever. (the problem with this setup being that i know myself well enough to know i would beg off most of those saturday nights. but this is my imagination, so it's okay.) the closest i had to this since i've moved here was when i was dating B. his group was a big appeal to me. barbecues, casual dinner parties, nights at the bar, nights on the couch, an open invitation to crash on the couch. i miss that.
it's in the walls of my apartment. it's in the mail i don't open, in the plates on the floor. and now, with one of the things that brought me joy in my life gone (yes, the stress will be gone too, but so will the nights of staying up until 4 a.m. laughing hysterically, and taking pictures, and surfing the internet, or playing with our set of characters, and watching movies), i feel empty.
i've never been one for forced joy. or expected joy. the people who tell me they had such a nice weekend with her sister and the baby--i'm trying to picture myself spending two days straight with anyone but R, and i can't picture it. i would go nuts. the people whose birthday party invite lists are a mile long--is that joy? having a bunch of people whose main qualification for being a friend is that you two like each other is weird to me. i like plenty of people. that doesn't mean i connect with them. if i wanted to have a fabulous birthday bash, i'm sure i could throw together an invitation list that would fill a good-sized room. i know plenty of people i like, and who like me back, and they would come, and we would hug and chat, and maybe then i would feel joy.
but i don't think so. i think i'd wind up with a headache, like i so often do when i'm trying to be on someone else's level. and hell, even the people who i honestly enjoy, i get those headaches with. i get tired of smiling. i get tired of placating the other person, which is so often what i do instead of asserting what i really think. i'll coach it in acceptable terms, i'll nod and agree, and while it's not exactly fake, it's not exactly real. it's not exactly me. and so i look forward to nights of drinking with people i like, because the beer takes off my veneer of politeness, and i can come home feeling like i was existing for me.
ha--reading this, a stranger would think of me as downright demure, or a caretaker. i'm not either. i can be downright cold to people who care about me--the number of people i've alienated over the years has gotten large. i'm fine with some of those, and i feel like shit about others. while i'm not a caretaker, that also means it's rare for someone to take care of me.
i just want people i can relax with. but it takes a helluva lot of time to cultivate a relationship during which you can truly relax. it took R and i months. i'm still not there with J, but i'm getting closer. S is probably the closest i have to that as far as platonic friends, but she lives on the other coast, so it's not like i get to exercise that option.
i used to picture myself in a group of people who were creative slackers. we'd have talks that were alternately hysterical, layered and complex, cynical. we'd all be each other's defaults--i'd know that unless i'd heard otherwise, people would be available on saturday night or whatever. (the problem with this setup being that i know myself well enough to know i would beg off most of those saturday nights. but this is my imagination, so it's okay.) the closest i had to this since i've moved here was when i was dating B. his group was a big appeal to me. barbecues, casual dinner parties, nights at the bar, nights on the couch, an open invitation to crash on the couch. i miss that.