Diary
Me
I recently told my best friend that I can’t be her buddy anymore. She keeps doing self-defeating things over and over, a self-perpetuating cycle of victimization with toxic people; I really can’t stand to go along for the ride anymore. It was too depressing, too stressful. I was wracked with anxiety and totally in denial about whether or not it had anything to do with my friendship with her. Finally I realized that in fact, I was enabling her bad habits and bringing the anxiety, sadness, anger upon myself. Denial is never good. I feel nothing about her, nothing for her but a vague longing. I was an asset to her, not a friend. It frightens me with the ease I was willing to let go. How she deals with the situation is her own affair. She can talk shit or blame me. Whatever, I just do not care nor do I have time. I’m gonna die someday, you know? Yet… I could be her friend again, if only there were more boundaries and less neediness. If only, if only.
Here’s a philosophical question: Do I seek to eliminate people who get to close in my life, or do I eliminate them because I always pick the wrong people? Is my dynamic of friendship so fucked-up that I am doomed from the beginning? I propose, dear reader, that I pick some good friends, and keep them. But sometimes I pick a good person who would not be a good friend: needy, fearful, controlling, spastic, indecisive [insert etc bullshit here]. This has been a struggle of mine ever since I was able to formulate and control my own social circle, say 4th grade. I’ve changed so much but this one element just seems cemented in my being. Maybe I’m unconsciously willing myself not to change.
I drag on my cigarettes with vague sadness and cold fingers, trying to trace the emptiness I feel. It’s like a yawning abyss, a maw that can’t be satisfied. And it’s not in the shape of god or grand purpose. I sate its hunger sometimes by the endorphin rush I feel after laughing with friends, by spending some happy relaxation-time with my bunnies or Mom or my brother. Smoking doesn’t seem to do anything for me, I feel nothing except for that first nicotine high in the morning… I could stop but it’s something to do, something to give time to, and the culture of smokers is very accepting. I never realized how much disdain, and even hostility, people have toward people who smoke (probably with good reason, cancer and all). I’m surprised at just how friendly smokers are to their brethren.
The static anxiety and heavy sadness builds up on me like wet snow, dissolving and dismissed at first but eventually becoming unbearable. I’ll watch a movie or read a book, or sink into sleep: somewhere where my thoughts get lost trying to follow me.
I don’t think it’s as easy as finding “love” or “happiness,” though those things are rarely simple. In fact, it may be just as basic as having a place that I belong. Somewhere where I wouldn’t have to put up with harmful situations not conducive for my wellbeing, wouldn’t have to hold my tongue and listen to the same stories with the same themes, somewhere where I could be accepted for who I am and valued for it.
Some people never find that. I guess I shouldn’t give up smoking just yet.
Past Five
are you blind or somethin'? - 2009-11-24
given - 2009-11-15
rape of reason - 2009-11-13
rubbed away - 2009-08-13
eager eyes - 2009-07-24