hyperaware
hope for things I can’t fully explain
The dawn of the 27th was an affair of slatternly rags soaking in a dishwater sky, with a gray light weakly filtering through.
- John Wyndham, The Midwich Cuckoos
The science fiction novel The Midwich Cuckoos begins with the description of a dishwater sky. It might be one of my favorite descriptions I’ve ever read, or at least one of the most visceral. I imagine myself at the bottom of a basin, peering up at the faint light through layers of soaking laundry. It’s part cozy, part suffocating.
It’s nice to be reading science fiction again. I haven’t been writing as much, but I’m trying to tell myself it’s part of the process. It’s not like there haven’t been emotions to process; it just doesn’t feel worth the effort putting them to words. How’s that for confidence?
It’s not about the book, the one I’m supposed to be writing. If I focus too much on not writing the book, I get depressed. What will I do with my life if I don’t write the book? What have I been doing so far?
sunk cost
I start the summer by registering my new Harley at the DMV. As I exit the long brick building, manila envelope clutched to my chest, I can’t help the smile that makes me feel like a different person. Or at least, a version of myself that takes delight in things.
It’s a pleasant evening, one I will probably waste inside at my desk. I’m writing this in the dusky calm of the balcony, so that’s something. My motorcycle is parked down in the residents’ lot where I can admire it.
Today I ordered a seat and a new helmet and felt sick for spending so much money on frivolities. When will I stop making myself guilty for every joyful thing in my life?
I wish I had Benadryl. It’s so much easier to bear these thoughts when I’m high. At this point, the reason I haven’t bought more is the sunk cost fallacy; I don’t want all this mental anguish and physical nausea to be for nothing.
fantasy
My depression tells me that I don’t have a true friend in the world. The kind of person who will make me feel the way I want to feel is starting to become a fantasy in my mind. The pain I’m feeling of loneliness is due to not deconstructing that fantasy yet.
At the same time, I don’t want to give up on it. My personality is to get excited about things and hope for things I can’t fully explain. I shouldn’t have to tamp myself down, even out of safety.
Every time I’ve experienced closeness, it’s either temporary or turns out to be an illusion. Fuck me, right?
I can’t become too cynical—or at least, more so. There are more connections to be made, existing ones to be deepened. I have things to look forward to.
hyperaware
I hate the summer.
I have become hyperaware anytime my thighs are touching, which is every time I sit down, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to lose weight. Right now my body doesn’t feel very safe. My touching thighs repulse me, my growing boobs infuriate me, my face in the mirror disgusts me. It’s hard to go out in public right now, and it being summer only makes it worse. That’s probably why I’ve been staying mostly inside this season. Between the sun and the people and the exposing my body, it’s way better to just stay in my apartment.
The thing is, I miss fresh air.
inconvenient
Since my sister is gone all weekend and I have no plans besides work, I do something I don’t normally let myself do: I sleep.
Part of it is procrastination. Another part is depression. Maybe part of me is actually exhausted, who knows? But for two days in a row, I get showered and dressed, do chores, force myself to eat, then retreat back to bed for hours.
I can’t use the weather as an excuse, because it’s gorgeous. I just can’t be bothered. Without anyone to perform for, turns out I really am just a lazy nothing. When the guilt of this begins to hit, I just roll over and go back to sleep for another half hour.
I am depressed whenever my family gets together without me. It was fine when I lived on the other side of the country and therefore wasn’t expected to come to anything. Now that I live less than two hours away, however, my absence is obviously deliberate.
I excuse it with work (which I’m currently avoiding) and plans (which I don’t have), and am met with understanding.
It doesn’t make me feel better. The loneliness is inconvenient.
change
I can finally start to see myself making progress. I often wonder if it is too late to escape physically unscathed. Who knows what damage lurks inside my skin? Every few days I have to slow down and trust that this incremental change will pay off in the end. Otherwise, how many years was I wasting?
flutters
One afternoon, I convince myself to walk down the street to my neighborhood coffee shop for a pick-me-up cold brew. When I get there, a sign on the door says they are closed for the next three days. Of course.
It takes me another hour to muster up the energy to try again. This time, I take my motorcycle to a different coffee shop. I get my cold brew and set up at an outdoor picnic table. My friend L calls and we chat for a good while. I feel like someone who has friends.
Why is it so hard for me to do anything? Simply leaving the apartment requires more mental preparation than my brain can handle. Then, once I do the thing, it never seems to scratch the itch.
The clouds are gathering overhead, providing relief from the sun. I really do hate the summer—or at least summers in Virginia. I told L I want to visit their state and we made plans for a trip in October. Hope flutters back into my chest.
This isn’t going to be my life forever.
