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The onion/where did everybody go?
4 years ago
I came from a deeper part of the onion of subcultures.
When it was too deep, I went one layer up, less true to to my dementia but more satiable.
When it wasn't deep enough, I crawled back a layer and all the people I knew from the first layer were gone. No one picked up the phone, answered emails or anything. But I understood their choice that once the layer is left, hard to trust anymore. After a few very deep friendships were broken, I decided to try to forget that part of my life as I navigated it, through them.
So here I was to stay I guess. Then, I was away here kina of; round seven years give or take, work, life a relationship, a house built. Many people were gone, but most of the ones that mattered stayed. As superficial as some of the friendships were, it still sucks to feel how quiet it is here compared to what I remember. I still have made very strong friendships here, whom I'm very thankful for, that don't judge me based on my commitment to a subculture (or not).
Last few days have been rocky. Health is in the gutter, weather is bad, relationship is falling apart, and despite being surrounded I feel extremely lonely. My friends here in IRL land are scared to death of me because I have been perpetually sick for weeks, and in my age group everyone has ailing parents, COVID is real... So mindless revelry and helping them with stuff has not been partaken and shielded me from myself.
I read back through some of my oldest tangible writing and one theme jumps out at me and scares me real bad. Pushing 20 years now I'm just a very conflicted, sad individual. Too much of a pussy to kill myself, not enough of a whizzard to actually find a way out. Always hoping in probably the most effeminate helpless way possible that love is going to rescue me or in place of that, materialism or shards of shallow intimacy will free the pressure.
The scary thing I found in the distillate is my mental maturity has grown extremely little. I have to consider that I am this way. That is a horrible thing to wish on anyone to live or feel like this. The notion struck me that hope isn't going to bend away a real construct anymore. After coming to that conclusion I was fucking floored for lack of a better term, got super dizzy and sick to my stomach.
I'm literally going to have to become an entirely different person to escape this.
When it was too deep, I went one layer up, less true to to my dementia but more satiable.
When it wasn't deep enough, I crawled back a layer and all the people I knew from the first layer were gone. No one picked up the phone, answered emails or anything. But I understood their choice that once the layer is left, hard to trust anymore. After a few very deep friendships were broken, I decided to try to forget that part of my life as I navigated it, through them.
So here I was to stay I guess. Then, I was away here kina of; round seven years give or take, work, life a relationship, a house built. Many people were gone, but most of the ones that mattered stayed. As superficial as some of the friendships were, it still sucks to feel how quiet it is here compared to what I remember. I still have made very strong friendships here, whom I'm very thankful for, that don't judge me based on my commitment to a subculture (or not).
Last few days have been rocky. Health is in the gutter, weather is bad, relationship is falling apart, and despite being surrounded I feel extremely lonely. My friends here in IRL land are scared to death of me because I have been perpetually sick for weeks, and in my age group everyone has ailing parents, COVID is real... So mindless revelry and helping them with stuff has not been partaken and shielded me from myself.
I read back through some of my oldest tangible writing and one theme jumps out at me and scares me real bad. Pushing 20 years now I'm just a very conflicted, sad individual. Too much of a pussy to kill myself, not enough of a whizzard to actually find a way out. Always hoping in probably the most effeminate helpless way possible that love is going to rescue me or in place of that, materialism or shards of shallow intimacy will free the pressure.
The scary thing I found in the distillate is my mental maturity has grown extremely little. I have to consider that I am this way. That is a horrible thing to wish on anyone to live or feel like this. The notion struck me that hope isn't going to bend away a real construct anymore. After coming to that conclusion I was fucking floored for lack of a better term, got super dizzy and sick to my stomach.
I'm literally going to have to become an entirely different person to escape this.
V.
V.
Every day since I posted this I come back to read it. I'm still trying to wrap my head around how I feel but your words are helpful
V.