She knew what she’d said & meant it
She was right, and now she’s gone, and the whole wide world is full of nothing but other people.
Hell is all the people that are what she wasnt. Hell is that she’ll never be again.
It shouldnt be so but is the case that the more unhappy I get, the less I care to have people spend time around me. I resent them for no good reason except their proximity. I feel an urge to become physically abusive to anyone who starts being physically affectionate with me. I feel trapped any time I can’t go away the moment I want to, and I hate having company when it means I cant get rid of someone the moment I want them gone.
This, I’ve come to realize, is partly why time spent with my family is so stressful & intermittently unpleasant. I’m trapped with them while trapped in a form that’s exhausting to maintain. I don’t have my own vehicle, dont have my own place to stay, don’t have a space to live as myself & not some muted homunculus, a child grown adult-sized in every way but honest personality or identity. I cant say ‘fuck’ or express anything resembling a worldview or talk about my life in any detail because we’re too far apart. There is no common ground, and our associations are as compulsory as they are voluntary.
I gave a eulogy at the funeral, managing to avoid saying anything that she wouldnt have wanted without making myself feel gross or unclean in the process. God only knows why I keep trying to walk that line. Deceit by careful omission but not commission. I can tell myself that it’s for the sake of everyone else, that at the funeral specifically, it was in line with what she wanted for her family and other loved ones, but it still feels like an excuse for my own sake. It makes life easier. It holds open purse-strings for future gifts & perhaps maybe even inheritance.
I dont want anyone to be unhappy because of me, but it’s making me unhappy. The self-serving voice says, ‘Yeah, but you’d find a way to be unhappy regardless’, and this is true.
I am tired, and everyone is exhausting. I already hurt too much from Nothing Really; how does anyone endure 50 or 60 more years of living if this is life? Best case scenario is you die shitting yourself from chemo, lungs suffocating from lack of oxygen even pumping it in pure thru your nose from a tank you lug behind with you? Or the other best case scenario, you find the mate of your life & stick with them thru everything, retire finally, and lose them to cancer within the year, lose them entirely months after that?
The best case scenario is having a TV and no one around anymore to watch half-hour mysteries while you read the paper? Being the one who gets to turn out the lights?
The best case scenario is actually living your life, I think, and letting the rest take care of itself. And I haven’t done so great a job doing the first bit so far, but I wonder if I ever will.