Do you ever focus on the things you most would like to ignore? The facts that are most unrelated to reality or the most likely to cast reality in a dim light?
I do. All the time.
Like, I almost just threw my phone across the room and nearly burst into tears because my fingers had the great idea to pull up my calendar app to see how long it’s been since I didn’t spend every evening alone in my room. Why borrow that pain? Why not focus on the days where I’ve had really great days and come home to happily curl up on my futon to recharge because I was peopled out and didn’t want company?
I’m actually an optimistic person. I think. I see the best in people and events. For the most part.
Yet negativity is such an easy spiral to get sucked into. And you try to work through it on paper, because that’s the easiest way for you to figure things out, and it just gets worse. You work yourself into a frenzy and you can’t wrap it up because you don’t know how. You can’t scream at the people who have broken your heart because a public attack doesn’t allow them to defend themselves and that’s too innately infair. The fear is spread out on the table but goes unaddressed, and all the pain of the semester is documented like the video I took of the filth of my kitchen this afternoon.
I want to scream, but even my paper scream gets swallowed.
Because as much as I want to scream, I’m afraid to be heard.
Because if I am heard, someone might say something.
And I don’t think I can believe their love.
It’s not that I feel unlovely. It’s that I feel unseen.
Like, I think you could love me if you knew who I really was, but I don’t want your hollow allegiance to this mask that I wear. The mask that I am so ready to set aside if you ask.
Ask me, and I become real and vulnerable. Heck, you don’t even have to ask. Just notice the freaking mask, raise an eyebrow, and I’ll slip it off with a sheepish, ‘you caught me, but are you sure you’re ready’ kind of a smile.
So why wear the mask at all, if all I want to do is take it off.
Because when people don’t bother to see the mask, at least they’re not ignoring the real me.
Does that make any sense? I know it doesn’t have to; I’m just writing what I feel. But still. Does it?
When we play hide and seek as kids, what’s the goal?
It’s to be found.
If you leave a kid in hiding for long enough without finding him, he’s going to get antsy and eventually reveal himself. Maybe not give up his hiding spot, because the other goal of the game is to be the best at hiding. But still. Being found is central.
Plus I don’t think I even started out hiding. Sure, I started out college painfully shy and crazily overwhelmed. But I did come out of that shell. I did make an effort to meet people. To see them.
I even think it’s safe to say that I’ve seen people. I’ve found them, whether they were hiding deep or were wandering around without a hiding spot.
And not everyone’s going to be a match, I get that. Not every friendship becomes a David and Jonathan.
Actually, most friendships won’t be David and Jonathan.
But, like, could we actually be friends? Could we take the time to consistently see each other, rather than just off-handedly noticing each other once in a while?
I am so. Freaking. Lonely.
And I am so tired of feeling guilty for feeling lonely. I am tired of the arguments with myself over whether I am allowed to be disappointed by people’s behavior or whether it’s my own fault for expecting more of them than was realistic. What does friendship really mean? Is friendship, at its most basic, noticing when someone’s hurting, or is that something deeper than just entry-level friendship? Is my definition of friendship just way out of sync with reality? Are we really even friends, or are we just friendly acquaintances?
I know that I’m no model human. I know that I aggravate the heck out of people and I come across as aloof or as clingy far too often, which is ridiculous because those are pretty much opposites. I don’t always play well with others, and you probably won’t find a more opinionated person between here and the Rio Grande, but I do try. And I do care.
And if I didn’t care, then no one would have the power to break my heart.
It is the end of my second-to-last semester and I am ready to get the heck out of dodge.
I am ready to be back with the people who truly see me.
This semester I have sung. I have laughed. I have danced for joy in the sunshine and the wind. I have smiled at people and they have smiled back at me. I have embraced others and felt their arms enfold me in return.
Even so, at the end of the day every day, I still end up here. In my room. Alone.
And the thing is, it’s kind of too late for you to join me to make it all okay again.
Because I don’t believe you. Not anymore.
In 225 days, I graduate, and then I’m gone. Because this place—this dynamic—can’t be home.