Vines

I’ve been at my job for close to two months now and I haven’t written in about as long. I don’t think I’ve had anything qualitatively interesting to say. Or maybe I just haven’t really felt anything that noteworthy to begin with – nothing I can milk into a few paragraphs, at least. And I guess writing that down, it’s notable in its own way. Anhedonia or whatever.

I don’t feel much right now. And not just emotionally, physically. I haven’t been hungry in weeks, or thirsty, or horny. Just tired. Really tired. I’m trying to be normal, partake in ritual eating and drinking so my body doesn’t wither away, but it’s odd that the need is gone. And that’s the best way to sum up where I’m at. The need is gone.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m already dead. I’m in a new city with new faces, no past of mine for them to know, no association besides what they’ve seen. I’ve always heard that this is supposed to be liberatory, a time for reinvention and all that. But it’s awful, really, spiritually. Maybe I’ve tied myself too much to who I have been, and to who I used to know, and to the thoughts I’ve been thinking for the better half of a life. What do you mean you don’t know where Decatur is? What do you mean you don’t know Dalton? What do you mean you don’t know Jane? Instead of freedom, this new space has given me vines that only I can see, twisting around my neck and wrists and stomach and sapping everything vital from them. I’m bereft of context. Purpose, I guess. Identity?

Of course, I’m still here. If anything, I can see more clearly who I am when there’s nothing else around. And it’s fine, I like myself well enough when I’m alone, and that small step is meaningful in its own right.

Unfortunately, I do find it impossible to not want to be with people. I’ve been seeing a girl for a few weeks now and I, I don’t know. Perhaps we went too hard too quick, but I’d like to not see her anymore. I thought I was healed enough to try, and perhaps I am and it’s a bad match, but I just cannot rectify the gap between who I want to be with and who everyone else seems to be. And it’s not like I have anyone specific in mind, it’s quite the opposite, she’s some eidolon of understanding and patience that I don’t think can possibly exist. And of course that’s unfair to expect of anyone, doubly so if you’re currently intermingled with them or whatever, so, yeah.

I don’t know. I’m the embers on a piss-soaked campfire. I’m overdramatic on a stupid blog because why not. I just sometimes take stock of where I’m at, where I’m probably going, and I feel nothing about it. I feel like life kicked me in the teeth a little too late in the game, y’know. What’s even the path forward here? I wish I was a serial monogamist like my ex, or had the resiliency of some of my friends, or the objectivity of my therapist. Anything to help me keep pushing forward. But I’m not and I don’t. I’m just me, with all the good and bad that entails. It’s just a little exhausting, is all.