So many people have these allegedly infalliable theories about life and death. Myself included -- we're here to love until we die, and we'll only live on in what we've left behind. So easy to prop these words on top of each other; they make enough sense. The truth is, though, even in sincerity, it's all bullshit. Bullshit inflated with hope and fear.
I've been reading a lot of Chuck, going a little crazy, and I can't say I've been feeling that optimistic lately.
But it's just difficult when death is on the impending horizon. And instead of a metaphor, it's my best friend. Instead of the beautiful circle of life, it's watching her literally fall before I get the chance to catch her. It's a migraine headache. It's alternating between lying in bed all day and trying to make it to the toilet in time to throw up. It's us, walking through seperate hells and expecting the worst.
And maybe some people who read this, maybe you are nodding your heads. Maybe you're thinking about that "Good Will Hunting" monologue:
"And if I asked you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you, who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it’s like to be her angel and to have that love for her to be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much."
And as much as you don't want to believe it, maybe that applies to you. I mean, maybe not, but who do you love? How do you show it? Do you know how this will end? I'm going to say it outright; the kind of comradery I feel around my oh-so-tight class means so little next to what I know is the strongest love I've experienced. It's not like I expect things to change, but I'm so disillusioned by this false sense of what love is.
Hey, I haven't lost anybody yet, either. I don't know when it will happen, and I don't know what it's going to feel like. But I know that it's coming.
I don't have words of hope, because right now, I don't feel much.
Good writing freaks me out. I don't know why this is. I'm re-reading one of my favorite books, "A Complicated Kindness," by Miriam Toews, and it's somehow even more stirring than I remember. It's just that every line seems so perfectly constructed and sensibly placed and I don't think I could ever create something so natural. And in the story the characters, though it almost seems inaccurate to call them that, are so heartbreakingly real.
"Things shouldn't hinge on so very little. Sneeze and you're highway carnage. Remove one tiny stone and bang, you're an avalanche statistic. But I guess if you can die without ever understanding how it happened then you can also live without a complete understanding of how. And in a way that's kind of relaxing."
I don't know why but sometimes when things are normal I feel so panicky. Things start to slip away, or maybe it's the other way around, and I'm slipping away from everything else.
In 5th grade I heard the Everclear song "Father of Mine" and later "Wonderful" and I wrote to Art Alexakis about how wow, those songs are so amazing and so my life, I've got so much pre-teen angst because my parents have been divorced for my whole life and gosh I just wish I could be normal. He e-mailed back in a few short lines and without proper punctuation, but it meant a lot at the time: "people always think their lives suck, until they meet someone whose life really sucks. normal is what you make it".
In October I took advantage of Chuck Palahniuk's limited time offer to write, and yesterday I received a response. "Some [of my stories] are extreme - but so is life. We can't deal with tragedy by pretending it doesn't happen."
It felt the same as getting that e-mail from Art Alexakis when I was 11. Some sort of idolized hero can still recognize where I'm coming from. Maybe it's childlike hope. But I can appreciate that.
"I'll count the steps to happiness I've missed..."
"These last three years, I know they've been hard
but now it's time to get out of the desert and into the sun
even if it's alone."
I'm not a negative person. I believe in humanity and in love and in the beautiful brevity of life as much as anyone I know. But it's gotten so goddamn hard lately. Being in school is a joke because I don't care, and so many of the people there don't have the slightest clue as to what is important in life; at least, that's what their actions convey. I can't sit still or listen to what people say because my mind's only on one thing. My best friend is dying, painfully, but everything else is floating on okay and that's not right to me. No one expects me to be happy but it's still so frustrating when I can't find comfort in anything within reach.
I'm so afraid. I know I can't be the only one. If things go as planned, I'll be living in a new city just a few months from now. Maybe 3,000 miles away. And the thought of a city of people who don't know a thing about me, or necessarily care, is totally overwhelming. Anything could happen; this could go either way. If I end up feeling worse, I don't know how I'll handle it.
Everyone's counting the minutes 'til class is over, the weeks 'til spring break, the months 'til we get out of Portland. Myself included. But when the countdown's over, no one's ever satisfied.
I'm trying to find something, anything, that could serve as a balm. And I suspect that nothing will be enough. But the scariest part is thinking about how I'll live through it all.
"We are here to make you feel,
it terrifies you, but it's real."
