i haven’t written in a while, but isn’t that what i said i’d do?
i want to talk about lonely. not the kind where you’re in solitary confinement or the kind where you push everyone out. it’s the kind where you keep everyone in, and no one makes you as happy as you think they can.
it’s a selfish lonely.
it’s when you’re in a crowded room and you’re looking at everyone. and everyone is laughing and they’re talking to you and they’re having a good time. and so are you. but you’re really not. because what they see isn’t what you feel. and you’re not the type to take a knife to your wrists or sit in the corner and cry. you’re the regular kind.
so no one’s paying the attention they should.
and then everyone goes home. and you go to sleep. and repeat for the next 365 days, 20 years. and you never realize.
that your lonely was their lonely, and they were doing the same fucking thing you were. they were lonely too. they were laughing because they were supposed to. they were talking, because they weren’t the type to sit in the corner and cry.
and you were so much lonelier.
because it was about you.
and at the office, it’s about you.
at reunions, it’s about you.
at every fucking turn, it’s still about you.
so we’re all lonely. but it’s only about us, right?
and so maybe we’re not all lonely. but we’re all something. maybe it’s sad. maybe it’s confused. maybe it’s exhausted.
regardless, we’re all dragging baggage that’s shredding the skin off our hands.
and you don’t have to take someone else’s baggage.
you just have to hold those hands.
i have a boy. he’s not mine, and we don’t love each other.
we have spaces where people used to be. his ex-girlfriend. brian.
and if you’ve ever had a space, you know they suck. literally suck. they suck every happy thing into them, so you’re left with the sad things. and the sad things remind you that there’s no one to make them go away.
so we fill each other’s spaces for now. and we don’t fill them entirely, but we fill them enough. he fights with his girlfriend on the phone. i fight with the fact that brian won’t talk to me. and when we’re done fighting, we’re back to each other. not because it’s ideal, but because it works.
because falling asleep with me isn’t what he wants, but falling asleep with someone is better than nothing. and falling asleep with him isn’t what i want, but it’s something.
it’s now, and it’s my life.
and maybe he’ll become what i want later.
and maybe i’ll never become what he wants.
but it’s fine right now, and i’m fine right now, and things are going to be okay.
tonight, my friend dan wanted to make stuffed peppers. so we walked from the library to the grocery store to his house to my house. he grabs a bag of peppers. this is when i learned that they were hot peppers. so i was supposed to help dig out the inside of these hot peppers, because, let’s not play like i can actually help with the cooking. so i’m using a spoon, and the spoon isn’t working.
i decide to use my fingers.
so a million hot peppers later, the seeds are out. then dan doesn’t need me anymore, so i go find something else to do. like sit on the couch and eat cheetos. as i’m putting them in my mouth, i’m realizing that my mouth is burning. so i grab milk from the fridge (because previous knowledge tells me water won’t work when your mouth is on fire). so life is fixed again, and i decide to take a nap.
i wake up from the nap and rub my eyes. my eyes start burning to the point that i can’t open them. i realize this is caused by pepper on my fingers. so i blindly run to the sink to wash my hands. three times. my eyes are still burning. i grab my face, because i’m in so much pain. my cheeks start burning.
in a matter of five minutes, my face is on fire. i call my dad crying. he tells me to run water on my face. i still didn’t want to touch my face, so i run to the shower instead of the sink this time. i literally rip my clothes off and hop in. the water’s freezing, but naturally, idgaf at this point. so i put my face directly in the water.
the burning gets infinitely worse with water.
i fall to the floor of the shower, screaming in pain. my roommate, brooke, calls our campus police who call paramedics. at this point, it’s nearly two hours after i touched the heinous peppers. so two cops and three paramedics come over, tell me that regular soap won’t work on pepper, and tell me to wash my face with dish detergent. then they proceed to tell me that i was basically experiencing the same effects as pepper spray. THANKS, DAN. and your fucking peppers.
so much for studying tonight.
so much for giving a fuck tonight.
bright side, you guys are awesome.
one side note: i’m apparently now emotionally vulnerable because i actually started crying watching Long Island Medium tonight. what is wrong with me? is this real life?
and i don’t want to talk about love. i don’t want to talk about happy. i don’t want to talk about school. in reality, i don’t want to talk.
which is why today i stayed inside. my big events were finding bubble wrap to play with and taking a nap until two.
the apartment gets so lonely, but i find that lonely is better than talking to most people. anymore i can count on one hand the people who have told me anything that really matters. and none of those people really matter anymore.
kris told me that i was beautiful, and it mattered. then kris left me for ex-girlfriends. twice.
brian told me that he needed a girl who loved music like he did. i didn’t. i asked him why he was settling. he told me that, in this case, he was hardly settling. the next day, he stopped talking to me, and i haven’t heard from him since.
shaun’s told me more meaningful things than i can count. but the only reason shaun is in my life at this point is because i’m his cheap, personal photographer.
so people who matter? my roommates. dana. my family. and tim.
and tim shouldn’t even be there. he matters now, but ask me again in a month.
and you people matter. i want to talk to you, because you’re different. i don’t have preconceived ideas about you, and so i can’t be disappointed. so tell me about you. ask me about me. i’m not interesting, but i’m interested, and that’s all that matters.
at least, this blog is number four.
i can’t keep a blog for longer than about three months, because, after that point, i can’t bring myself to reread anything i’ve written. so then i start over.
i need everything to be new.
i need my life to be different.
i need to forget everything i thought i knew.
because those things only blow up in your face.