I once had a close friend whose method of disconnecting from things, eras in life, and people was much different than my own. He would put a lot of time and energy into building something awesome, then enjoy the fruits of his labor for years, only to one day kick it to the curb calling it a worthless piece of junk.
Nothing he called “junk” was junk at all. He simply couldn’t see how to bring the object, habit, or person into his next phase of life with him. Since he couldn’t form a plan to mix the old with the new, he automatically thought that the old must be gotten rid of. Labeling it as worthless was the only way he knew how to depart from it.
The gap in his reasoning evolved from his belief that by that point in his life he should know how to handle life. To save face from not knowing that more options for dealing with the situation existed, his ego assumed that his default method of departure was the only way to handle it.
Respectfully departing would involve feelings of loss, disappointment, evaluations of love, and many other emotions that, in order to save face, he had a strong urge to hide. These, more positive, goodbye emotions were replaced with disrespect. In justification for his actions, he pushed aside the good aspects to focus on the few things he felt resentful for. Since objects and people are never perfect, flaws pointed out can hold a lot of weight, especially when other people feel as if the flaws are the result of some sort of personal failure.
If something is junk, well then obviously someone wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of it. But a pattern of calling once-cherished things junk just to avoid facing the loss…is, well, sad. But people do what they do and it picking up the pieces gives them more things to do.
I’m not sure what it is about it that makes me think that I’d rather not belong to something that I have no choice but to be apart of. Much of it has to do with the apathy that fills in the gap between when you’ve just been introduced and before you realize that you actually have something in common. Being stuck in that point for a long period of time just makes me wish I had something better to think about. But that is the thing with meeting and getting to know new people. They are always this figure of light in the shadows, smiling and talking, but nothing makes sense, there is no connection other than the fact that you happen to cross paths.
From my prospective, I tend not to have any noticeable holes to fill until I start to make room for someone, then I realize that it is worth making room and it flows from there. But to have made room and then realized that they’re blocking another door is troublesome. Especially when they bring their friends into the mental sphere and cannot help but show how much more in love with them they are than they are with me. Not everyone does it, so why do some do it? Do they not realize that I’m sitting here wondering when we’re going to exist together in the present? No, probably not. That’s why it doesn’t work, there are too many of them on the periphery, too many comparisons, too many that came before, and too many to take in.
Information overload and “I’m exhausted, leave me alone”. I know to stick to my own introverted kind, but it is the extroverts who speak up and question me and suck me into their world. They enjoy the seeking as much as I enjoy being found.
I guess with happiness, tragedy must be in there somewhere. Fortunately I had the luck of being spared compounded tragedies in life until adulthood, but perhaps that has weakened me; Not having to go through death happening so close to home, especially not this sudden, really gave me a false idea of what life was. I could ask myself a million times, why? why? why? why now? why so soon?
Can’t I have a few more years, just a few, to enjoy this more…. to not have to feel like pieces are fading and gap are going to have to be filled with yet more pieces that will fade? I just want something to hold on to, to hold me up and catch me when I fall, to be there for and build upon, but life doesn’t work that way; it throws the whole range of itself at me at some point, and lately, when I least expect it. Try as I might to hide from life’s sirens, they find me, grab hold of my heart and clench it. If there was no love, we would never know the extent of how horrid this underlying sadness can be and would also be desensitized to its misery. So perhaps love is to blame…