fallingMay 21, 2007
It’s nearly 2am in my present time zone. That means it is almost 3am at home. It is late. I am tired. I should probably be sleeping, or at least attempting to, not that it would be a problem this late at night. However, I must confess that it is when my brain is tired that I drift into parts of myself I do no regularly visit. Parts that I should be tired of, done with, through. I am not. These are the parts that linger and hang off me like loose threads, waiting to snag on the sharp corners that intermittently jut into my life. It is then, when these parts catch, that I slowly unravel, and reveal the things that lie beneath my skin, that lie deeper and deeper under cloth and flesh alike. It is these sorts of things that float across my mind. Let me make them relevant.
A while back, I was directed to a website called We Feel Fine. This site has an engine that seeks out phrases that contain the words “I feel” and its cousins from blogs, live journals, and personal websites. From there, you can view the random collection of emotions and thoughts that are floating through the mind of other people, or you can filter them out in a thousand different ways to find that one brain you can most identify with. It is an excercise in voyeurism. It is a wonderful tool. I have spent several hours on it at times when I was most down, finding out how not alone I was with my feelings, how connected I was with others.
Tonight, I tried something similar. I went and filtered out all the emotions that had been brought in from my own town of residence. I hoped to find someone near that I could touch. I also, in a way, hoped to find myself. (I wonder if this post will end up there. It would be interesting to note).
Why did I decide it was a good time to stop by We Feel Fine? Partly, because I went to my facebook and found myself staring that the profile of the Ex, noticing that he is dancing in a musical this summer. I immediately noticed that it makes me mad that he is dancing in a musical this summer. Why? Well, that’s a wonderful question. It’s a question that can be applied to everything he does. Why did he do drum corps? Why did he pick my school? Why did he join my fraternity? Why did he have that burn on his arm? Why is he asian? Why did he have to make his own decisions? Why did he have to turn 21? Why did he have to have his name, and not something more obscure? Why did he have to drive that kind of car? Why is he still here? Why is he still alive?
Of course, these questions are not permeating. They are only there when my brain is most rampant and most tired. So I find myself getting depressed about all sorts of things, usually relating to him, even though it was nearly three years ago, and I decided that its time to go relate to other sad people.
Sadness is an odd thing. It requires a certain amount of attention, some cultivation. It asks that you do very little, but that you do that very little as loudly as possible. I have never been quietly sad. This makes me a nuissance at times, but it is what is required of me, and I have no control over it. But this, too, is when I am most tired.
Sadness is communal. Sadness is friendly. Sadness is unstable. Sadness is attractive. There is a certain shine to triste, to black calm. There is a glow about being so upset, so bothered about something that it lingers, growing and fading over time, tiding like water. There is something so wanton about depression, so tasty and wonderful. To be full of an emotion so real, so invigorating in its own way, so ripe.
And yet, it is still sadness. It still drags and dregs and collects at the bottom of the cup, and you still want it gone immediately. I do. I want it gone so badly that I start to hope that one day, soon, I’ll not have to worry about why I’m so upset. I’ll not have to worry about why seeing his picture, always smiling, always happy, burns my breast so. One day, I’ll look up and see him, and not have to catch my breath, and I’ll be able to be with him in some way like what it once was. However, while hope can be wings, I am no bird, so I cannot fly long on this.
I do not delete my connections to him as much. I do not wish him to go away as much. I do not try and make him disappear from my world as much. Because I still have hope, and the thrill of the fall is beautiful.