121220. this might seem so random, after so many years, but here i am again. just for a while. just a few minutes ago i listened to a song i listened to way back in 2012, 2013—the same song that i used to play whenever i needed to articulate something sitting at the base of my throat. an itch, a vague heartbreak, a faint disappointment. do you get what i mean? like dangling on the precipice of a great sadness, and the vast expanse beneath your feet is pulling, pulling, calling you to the center of the earth. the fall is inevitable. already your insides brace for it, leaving you cold and shaky.
lately i have been feeling quite alone. to be quite honest i’ve been feeling that way for a long time, but even more so now, i think. i want so desperately to talk about so many things, really: my wretchedness, my ambivalence at work, my lack of enthusiasm for my graduate studies, the depressive episodes that i thought were just episodes but are just going on for far too long.
but—i’ve learned the hard way that people can sometimes make you feel like you’re taking up so much space for just talking about things when literal pandemics are going on. make you feel small-minded and childish, and then in the same vein dwarf you under their own pain, or conceit, or worse—and these are the worst kinds of people—compare your struggle with global crises. how sad, how needlessly heartless.
i won’t and could never begrudge my strength to those who need it, of course. but who then could i ask to carry my weaknesses? before it was so easy to articulate the things that made me feel like this, but i’ve suppressed that part of myself for so long i’ve run out of words. i’ve lost the language.