I’ve been reflecting again on the differences between what you say and how you say it. A pattern emerged, I steered that insight into thoughts related to stand-up comedy. I penned a drunk desperate profession of my desires and opinions related to my map project to the programmer, voiced a drunk ramble about all the things I’m bored of fighting about to a friend I should have spent more time listening to, and likely alcohol poisoned myself because my inability for dealing with shitty feelings outweighed my then willingness and ability to cope.
I don’t know if the wording works for you, but as far as opinions about myself are concerned, I’m so bored. I’m tired of the same fights, pretending like I don’t know how to phrase or play it differently. I’m tired of coaxing anxiety that, without trying to sound ironic, I don’t actually care about. I’ve referred to that conundrum as “keeping things interesting” when I’ve little of value left to contribute to anything else. This leads me into just doing unnecessary things that do more work to undermine any positive conception of myself than any poorly-worded blog could.
It’s just boring to see it over and over. Why are we fighting? Because you might think spending 2 hours talking is 2 hours too many. It’s not because we both believe friendship and understanding take time and you need a break, something about our fickle modern psychology keeps us teetering on the edge after every interaction that is less than harmonious. That’s boring, unfair, petty, and any number of digressions speaking to the degradation of our shared conception of humanity.
Some people get off easy and hate themselves. They hate themselves so hard they don’t even realize the power of the armor they’ve adopted. It’s both invisible and invincible. They can’t be criticized. Their words are final and timeless. It imbues them with pride and motivation. It’s co-opting the secret of a psychopath’s charm. There’s nothing there, so there’s nothing to impede.
I can find myself perpetually conflicted about the definition of “friendship” or what is worth my time. I can recall “enjoyable” fights and opportunities to gain perspective and insight about how to go about it better. But I’m playing a longer progressive game. My one wrong move, in your eyes, could be my last. You can say you don’t hate me, and treat me like you do. It’s fluid. The description of it will sound infinitely more dramatic than it will ever feel in the moment.
I wish I could hate myself. That sounds like a weird thing to say. Things would get easier then. The problem remains constant. Me. I’m now too inventive of excuses. I’m now so unbearably blind and selfish it’s amazing you ever got two words in. I start deliberately and callously playing on sympathies or look to emotionally control. I judge over and over again with no capacity or willingness to try and explain. Back off, the bitch is here, leave your offerings on the table.
There’s such a common pattern, by the way. It’s not reserved for one sex or another. From an “innocent” standpoint, I try to chalk it up to fear. From a cynical place, I call it dishonest laziness. In general, I don’t think I have a single friend who’s so socially oblivious to not know how to approach someone who differs in their conversational “style.” Maybe you have to navigate a drunk ramble. Maybe you have to use positive and impersonal language. Maybe you have to coax questions and explanations out of someone and refrain from voicing your thoughts. The game is endless.
I call it cynical. I think it’s the necessary, yet cynical game you have to play to keep yourself healthily oriented in the world. I make a distinction between how I engage with the rest of the world, and how I engage friends or choose to phrase something in writing. You need to be able to handle it. You need to be able to forgive. I’m not throwing myself to wolves on a world stage eager to accept clichés about “it’s not for everyone.”
I try to give you as much credit as I give myself. Take the flow and general point of the argument even when one line pisses you off or you can’t shake the pretentious tone you’re certain I’m writing in. Intentional and head on is, in my view, foundational in qualifying a relationship worth having verses one you’re forced to cope with simply because you exist; friendly, intimate, or otherwise.
Yes, it can be exhausting. Yes, it can zap up your hope and you can find every best thought you’ve ever divined for how “this isn’t me” or “it’s impossible.” And if you lose sight of what you’re truly fighting for, you’ll be absolutely right. And is that what you want to be? “Right?” I, for one, don’t want to be any more or less right than what I manage to claw together in blogs. I want to account for the moment. I want to respect the feelings and patterns. I want you to know that even if I saw or spoke with you for a short amount of time, you’re still there. I’m still in your corner.
It’s just the friendly thing to do.
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