When it comes to other people, I'm terrified. I've written about falling in love, about death and how it changes me; in the past, I've written (in a comedic fashion) about the fallacy of caring about the world and modern notions of the modern man, and how they are anything but. I've always felt like I had a pretty good handle on reality, but then things go changing.
In my mind, my grasp on life is absolute. I wear a suit, expensive ties, and shoes that denote not class but status. When I tell a story, people listen, rapturously. Tiny lives revolve around tiny me, with tiny celestial events occurring in between. Literally and figuratively, I am a star.
In reality, my personal style is mid-1990s grunge with sprinkles of modern metro-sexual--a truly confused visage. My command of a room is tenuous; for each person I feel is into my tale, another is repulsed. Life does not revolve around me. Copernicus was right, and he was a shitwizard. What happened? I thought I had this locked down.
It would be easy to point to a sickness, an illness, and ascribe my shortcomings to it. "I am depressed." I don't feel very sad. Mostly, I just feel solitary. The difference is palpable and horrible. If I was depressed, medications and therapy could cure me. As a singular entity, external help doesn't exist. I have always hated the guy who described himself as a "people person." But the only way to form meaningful connections is to work and accept and, metaphorically, be singular.
At this point, I'm not sure what else to do. I am exhausted and I have exhausted all outlets of personal connection. What happened? Why am I compelled to concoct elaborate lies to avoid personal interaction? What am I running from? When I first moved here, I felt like I was finally at home. All I can do now is scour the landscape for an escape path. What happened in between?
Recently, I saw many of my high school friends at a concert. We hugged and shook hands and exchanged tales of what we had been doing. It was a reality existing parallel to my own. We were doing the right things but the outcome was different. Did I outgrow them? Did they outgrow me? It should have been a celebration of old friends reuniting, but I've never felt more like an anchor.
You can't go home again. There is no home, really. There is now and there is then, and they exist simultaneously but not together. And you can't be in both. Life is the choice between the two. I've never had to make a choice like this before, and it's pretty scary. If life is choice, then making no decision is suicide. What do you do when both seem wrong? What then?
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