I've had an issue with writing since my last blog post, so I thought "if I was writing a book of essays, 20 years down the line, and somehow had the mental capacity to recall anything I felt of this particular week, what would it be?" and this is what I came up with. It may be one of my favorite things I've ever written. The January before I turned 23, I became fascinated with writer Joan Didion. This woman became a figment of tangible perfection and a shining beacon of light in my otherwise dim attempts at finding my way through writing. I had always found power in using my words, and if not power, solace, and she shoved me through that door. A lot of my thoughts came to fruition in the sound of her speaking, maybe making my high school vocabulary sound more eloquent than it deserved, but it allowed me to muddle through whatever thoughts I had that I wanted to write down, but sounded too "cliche."
One night in particular, I felt I had reached the peak of insanity. Wherever it lived in my brain, it found its way out, and I sat in a dimly lit room trying to make sense of it all. I felt like my lack of normalcy was the only thing making me feel normal. "Nobody is normal," I thought to myself. I then realized that my proverbial light switch remained in a balancing act between "off" and "on" and that alone was driving me crazy. I'm "on" enough to appear as a functioning member of society, but I'm too "off" to come in contact with people I've considered friends for years. Then I began to run back and forth on the ball field of introversion. I was quiet enough for no one to realize I was neither here nor there, but still had the urge to converse with the postmaster about the $1.15 stamp I had to buy in order to send a Valentine's Day card to Ireland. The rounded stamp was small, with a single green succulent on it, and I wanted to mention "those are cute!" until I realized that the single comment had nothing to do with anything, and in no way would improve my experience, so I remained to myself.
I sat in front of my computer after a day of not actually processing any one thing I was doing, but rather just DOING things. I searched for an inkling of inspiration. The last item I had written consequently served as a silver platter of silence. What I had written in a moment of reflection, trying to aide my friends in no longer hearing whatever repetitive thoughts came from my head, turned into an accidental exposé of a friendship that apparently was struggling behind closed doors anyways. Unbeknowst to me, it led to weeks of silence and me leaving social media for a brief moment. The latter less concerning than the former, but I digress. I found an article titled "The 14 Most Eye-Opening Quotes By Joan Didion" and dove right in.
Complimented by a photo of young Didion donning her signature black glasses, came a quote from Slouching Towards Bethlehem: "One of the mixed blessings of being twenty and twenty-one and even twenty-three is the conviction that nothing like this, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, has ever happened to anyone before." And a light bulb flipped on. Not that one of which compliments my aforementioned proverbial light switch, but another.
In a message sent to me by a friend, mutual to the one I allegedly "called out on social media" a week prior, he said "I don't know the whole story of what's going on and I feel your pain. But, you're not the only one in pain," which initially made me defensive, because I never allowed myself to be in these situations. I never allowed myself to think "it's okay that you're upset." The path I took was less of self nurturing and more of "but other people have it worse, so let me forget that I ever felt this way." That's how I ended up in my shower, with a subdued anxiety attack. That's how I ended up in my car, crying to my pregnant best friend whispering "how is this fair?" and still being concerned that I'd stress her out. That's how I ended up on the stairs branching off the hallway, venturing to get a glass of water, thinking "I'm not normal, and I feel normal for once because of it."
At that moment, I couldn't find comfort in being head strong. My biggest issue was not that I was silent, that I hadn't spoken to most of my friends in over a week, or that despite my love for social media and the inspiration it brings me, I dropped it and walked away. My biggest issue is how it felt like it all fell on my shoulders, and nobody seemed to reach out. Nobody seemed to step back and assess their actions like I had always done with my own, putting me in this state of hyper awareness, although sometimes also lack thereof. It almost seemed as though, comparatively the previously mentioned, I had the conviction that nothing like this had ever happened to anyone before.
The balancing act between caring for others and being capable enough to care for myself continued to swing back in forth in the slightest breeze. My "this is good for you" turned into "but bad for your friendships."
My "take this time for yourself" turned into "you can't keep everyone waiting."
My "hold on to your pride, wait for someone to come to you for once," turned into "that's selfish and very unlike you, get your head out of your ass."
"Yet," I thought, "if I had said conviction that nothing like this had ever happened to anyone before, why do I feel like I'm waiting to find the answer in someone else?"