apathy

I have absolutely no motivation to do anything, but I will continue doing everything because life doesn't exactly give you options. It's sort of a "do it or leave" situation, and I'm not in the mood for suicide so I'm gonna have to "do it".

I feel like a spiderweb, all thin and stretched out too far. Tethered between things that should matter to me, but don't. I'm getting wispy and tangled; I'm weighed down by so many water droplets sliding between the different strands in my life and collecting in the center of my torso. But all the while I'm also somewhere above me, watching it all play out, watching this spiderweb spin herself into oblivion. I wish I could help her, but in her foggy state she has decided to decline assistance.

hmm

I was feeling off, but unable to put a finger on the specific emotion. It was a late afternoon and I was planning on going to a theatre show at a different high school with some people from school. They said they could give me a ride and the show was at 7, so I assumed they'd be by no earlier than maybe 6:15-6:30. It was around 4:30 when they arrived in my driveway, so I had to scramble around trying to grab my money and chapstick and everything, knowing I'd probably lose my ride if I told them I couldn't go yet. So I grabbed my shoes and walked out the door to pile into the already full car.

It turned out we were going out to another friend's house to hang out before the show. I guess I should have been excited about this, or at least mostly alright with it (since I made a pact with myself at the beginning of the year to try and hang out with people more and be less of a hermit). But I was irritated, frustrated even. I went along with it. We hung out I guess, talked I guess, watched TV I guess. I pretended to be social while internally stressing about homework I was neglecting and how much I wish I were home still. I had no one to share this sentiment with; even the most shy person in this friend group loves being included and hangs out with people any time she can. I can't begrudge them enjoying each other's company. They showed each other social media posts on their phones, made the same jokes that had been made so many times before it's a wonder people are still laughing at them.

It wasn't until we all got back in cars to go to the play that I realised how I felt about the whole thing. It felt like a waste. It felt like a waste of an afternoon. I didn't care about what they were saying, had no inclination to make future plans with them for a future date or time, felt less than connected to any of them. It felt like a waste of time, and I was irritated that none of them seemed to feel the same way. And as soon as I identified these emotions, I felt an interesting mixture of things. I shouldn't feel bad for not enjoying their company, but also they'll never know so technically it doesn't matter. Why can't I just like being around these people without a purpose? I know I must've spent time with people before without a purpose that I enjoyed. The difference, I suppose, is that up to this point I never really hung out with people. I got together with them for purposes, and sometimes I had a good time, but it's difficult to have a good time when there's no purpose and no end game. Why does spending time with people without a concrete reason always feel like such an inconvenience? Is it something I should keep doing to either keep myself from being too isolated, or is it something that will, over time, grow me into someone who will no longer despise spending time with people for no reason other than to "have fun"? I don't know. I don't know, but I'm tired of spending all my time wanting to connect with people but deep down knowing that I don't know how. I want to know how. But I also just really want to be alone because it's easier. At least alone I don't have to pretend to understand.

a different sort of isolation

People are so afraid of being alone. They hover in groups and hate goodbyes to the point of never saying them at all, even when farewells are more than called for.

I am not afraid of being alone, not particularly. Because of this, I have found it almost painfully easily to slip out of the vast matrix of social connections and simply drift, untethered by nothing but my own unrealistic expectations for how the play of life ought to be executed. There is a simplicity in isolation that I find dearly fascinating, though recently I have found myself more and more attracted to the complicated glow of friendship. To those sparks that leap between eyes and spark up in sharp bursts of laughter. I have watched friendships play out, have observed how people interact with one another, and have tried to attach something quantifiable to the things that connect them, but I seem to be incapable of recreating those same things in my own life.

Human connection is such a delicate thing; it is a plant that will die if transplanted into unworthy soil. Genuine ties between souls refuse to be artificially manufactured with some ulterior motive in mind, but my only motive is to be loved. I don’t understand how connection has evaded me for so long if not simply because of my own lack of willingness to trust my well-being to another. I do not believe that to be a crime. But I have seen less trusting people than I form fully functional and long-lasting relationships with relatively little effort that I can see. They just spin themselves into groups, cocooning themselves up in these lovely warm pods of mutual good will. Pods break apart and splinter before drawing back together, sure as sunshine. It is difficult to quantify something that holds such complex motivations yet such simple outcomes. It’s such a joke, really, some endless jest with the punchline all wrapped up in the question. If I pay more attention maybe I’ll catch it. Maybe then I’ll finally be in on the joke.

1:11 am

I feel empty, but differently than I have in the past. I'm not depressed, I'm not isolated, I don't hate myself, I just...I don't know. In talking to other people, especially people whom I would consider to be my friends, I've come to realise that talking to other people about their problems and being there for other people, while it is lovely and I enjoy being useful in that regard, it drains me in ways I can't describe. No matter how much I try to confide in them as well, I find that I can't. I find that they won't understand what I'm trying to say or that they can't tell me anything I haven't already told myself a thousand times. It's frustrating because, in them telling me about the things bothering them, if they are talking about problems that have ailed me in the past or present, I am able to help, but it also grates at me because often the degree to which they are feeling certain things relating to isolation is still better than what I've been through. Does that make sense? Like, I understand that comparing problems like that is completely ridiculous and that's not what I'm trying to do, I promise. But when people say they feel isolated because their friends are feeling more distant than usual, I want to be like at least you had friends to begin with. I had a couple when I was like 9, and even then we like never hung out or did anything. When they talk about having their friends have deeper connections with other people, I want to point out to them that the majority of my friends are closer to you than to me, and I've just had to accept it. When they say that they don't ever get out with people, I am very tempted to point out the difference between my staying home literally 98% of the time I do not have school or rehearsal, and how much I see them on other people's snap stories all the friggin time. It isn't fair of me to think things like that, and I know it's not, but that's how I've been feeling. I don't feel isolated but I feel detached. Lonely, I guess. I dunno. I have to get up in about 4 hours, so I'm going to try and sleep. Maybe someday I'll find someone who will cure me of this issue and all will be well. Hopefully.