I haven’t looked at this for months. I see a clutter of unfinished drafts and would mourn lost potential, but it’s a disturbing hospice of all the ideas I periodically try and resuscitate anyway (and some semi-colon adoration). So no great loss …
One of the fundamental flaws to my life approach is the bizarre assumption that anyone would want to know the crap that goes on in my head. I have this desperate urge to purge it all from myself; I will make more sense and everything will be better. Why I need to make any sense remains the greatest mystery to myself … alas the world is stuck with internet-based ramblings and much rehearsed conversational splurges. To explain the latter – I’ve found living and working in London extremely difficult and felt so unbelievably alienated (to the extent that I wondered why I had ever complained of this feeling before in my life). Also, I’m fairly sure good social skills and confidence are essential for my job. I do not have these; why I decided to torture myself trying to develop them is beyond me. Yet, I still cling to the idea that if I bombard people with ‘me’ it might all be fine. I’ve now taken to just hi-jacking tea point conversations as an excuse to attack people with ‘I’m really shy and self-conscious’ to try and cover any past awkwardness (missed hellos, leaving in mid conversation, not speaking in sentences …). The response is generally ‘you don’t come across that way at all.’ I am. It means, however, I must either seem crazy or rude. Or I’m just worrying about things that don’t matter (like will I look like an arsehole for going to a leaving night for people who I don’t really know or will I look like one for not going). Urgh. I wish I could just completely embrace the crazy.
Perhaps I’m getting better at conforming. That idea disturbs me too. I have spent far too much of my life chanting ‘your age of reason is the age of resignation and I’ve no use for it!’ There is a fine line between resignation and accepting that some of your adolescent ideas don’t align with who are/want to be now. Clinging on to everything seems wrong; letting them all go seems like giving up. I’m struggling to ‘grow-up’ in a way that doesn’t repulse me. Not sure how my career choice fits in with this (having said that, I do kind of love it at the moment); I do not think there is a lot of room for my existential ramblings. I do not have an audience for ‘me’ here and I’m finding this difficult.
Finding space to explain avascular necrosis and not being able to walk is one of the things I struggle with most. I feel like all I do is gibber on about it and draw folk’s attention to it (accidentally hitting people with the crutch on a daily basis, etc). Yet there’s been an increase in the question ‘does it hurt all the time?’ Yes. It really, really does. I did not think I hid that, but there must be something I’m missing. It is fairly energy draining to survive a day without bursting in to tears and a lot of the time I would like a party for making it through the week. Tapping in to some deeper resources to actually do it well seems an unrealistic ask. My head can’t cope. I keep dreaming of a time when I will be rested enough to sort out my head and come up with a way to catch up with life, rather than just surviving. This is never coming, is it?