Why Am I Like This?

 We live in the soft glow of a failed experiment. A little spiral tree of lights that was meant for the lawn. A lot of life in a house you care about seems to be not knowing what to do. There are half painted walls from the moments shortly after we moved in while I had motivational anxiety. Humming with ideas. Hoping to escape and make a place feel like it was a place for me. We have succeeded in making it a place for The Kitten. She has soft places to sit and watch us, to catch sunbeams for a lightly toasted Kitten, look out at a world that it seems impossible to be a part of. Same. I also feel I've picked up her habit of rotating interests. There's only so many things that are comfortable, soft, and safe I seek with regularity. It's not quite a routine. It's slipping into a modest interest. In the window as things go by I have the impulse to bark. I stare with curiosity and hope the intensity of my envy is concealed by my computer monitor. The idea of expanding my world again feels insurmountable, and worse, a lie. I assume things felt normal, and there was space to explore pleasure, but it's hard to remember. I'm not sure which side of consciousness is the nightmare. The desperation with which I try to recall feeling better tastes like salt. I don't want to be left behind. But I don't want to be fooled. Self-embarrassment is an awful shock. You can never be prepared. Just don't wave at that person if you're not sure they're waving at you.

Collin has introduced a theory that people do things because they like doing them. Motivation seeks the present joy, or the contentment of the results after you're done. I have no idea what that means for a lot of my life. I imagined everyone was doing things just because it's something to do. Or something you have to. To escape the isolation. Because there doesn't seem to be an alternative to soldiering on except to lay down your weapons and die. Does this mean I've been captured by the enemy? I think our psychological brokenness is not exactly compatible. I think this is probably why I like romantic teen dramas. I can't imagine the dreamy self-propelled single-minded missions young adults seem to throw themselves into with little fear of failure. A passion that made such simple low-stakes pursuits seem so high-stakes and every love is true and irresistibly magnetic. 

I binged all of Heartstopper last night and it was the closest I've gotten to respite since I stopped being able to recognize reality. To the degree I was ever able to, I suppose. I loved it so much. It was so perfectly wholesome and the conflict was less driven by misunderstandings than self-acceptance. Gentile turmoil that could easily be pulled through with candid conversations. The kind of conversations people embrace each other after to let go of the tension that they were holding just moments before. The whole cast had a chemistry of hearts deeply connected. Well, the kids that weren't bullies, but they were dealt with in an incredibly satisfying way. It also had a perfect soundtrack of fast-paced sentimental dancy melancholia. Songs for the absolute devastation of having a crush. I feel like any glowing reviews I could offer would be wildly understated representations of how the show actually made me feel. Pure escapism.

I tried watching the new season of Selling Sunset, too, and that felt much truer to life. I think I've developed the meanness of feeling you're becoming a ghost in your own life. No one wants to be the side character. I know I'm just competing with the perfect and untroubled people that exist in my head, but I'm treating my friends like these imaginary people are real. It's harder I think when you're not just looking in from the outside on social media, but hearing the ups and downs of personal success. I couldn't keep the cat grass I bought for The Kitten alive. Some days I wonder if I will be able to keep any of my relationships alive. My alternating places to sit at home are resentment, guilt, and probably irrational grudges. I want to get the zoomies. I am probably too involved in the behavior of my cat. It's probably unfortunate that all my metaphors flow through her. You shouldn't live through your child.

I'm worried about my relationship with Collin. I am worried about Collin. I am worried, as I mentioned, about my ability to form relationships. I also am probably too hyper-focused on his behavior because he's the only living thing I consistently interact with whose language I can understand. Somewhat. This is probably the biggest problem with living through television. Adult love seems to be a kind, pleasant, puttering routine. But when life is an overwhelming routine of reactions to disasters and forcing yourself to do things you don't want to do any routine seems wrong. Safety feels like hiding. Just burying yourself in a shallow grave and hoping the warm earth will shield you from the next hysteria inducing experience. I want to find the space to feel secure. I want to be more excited for the people I know, both intimately and from afar, and more forgiving of problems that seem frivolous. I think I buried myself too far, and I'm sinking in regret. 

Thanks for coming, I don't think the interior has changed much since the last time you were here, unfortunately, we haven't found the time or money for renovations, you know how it goes, having a full-time job is a full-time job, and Collin and I are still trying to agree on a layout, I should probably hire a professional, but it feels like I should be able to do this myself, if I figure out the right tools, anyway, I'm sure you remember the way out.