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Siphus -> Cleft (9/3/2014 9:29:42 AM)
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This is really just my way of venting. Getting it out of my head and away from me, into some public space. I don't expect anyone to spend their time reading it - I just feel validated somehow by it being somewhere where people can. Apologies if it offends by not meeting the standard of quality of this community, or if it is not the correct place to put such content
I went to a play on Saturday. The Merchant of Venice. I've little to say about it. They thought Jews were bad and women were scheming, no surprises there. I'm sure there's something about human nature and revenge in it - but there are no lessons for me there.
There was something about the smell. People my age. Students. Something about it makes me feel feral. No, not a FetLife kind of feral. My kind. Forlorn, outcast, like I can never interface with these people. Or any people. It reminded me that I can't.
As I milled out from the wet field with everyone else, it was all I could think about. It was all I could think about on the way home. It's all I can think about now.
That smell. That similarity, that distance. The difference between me and them. Something subtle, unplaceable, but imperative enough to create the sensation of there being a cleft between them and I.
And my old reaction to this cleft. To walk the night, one end of a city to another, hearing songs from pubs and watching people walk by as friends. And feeling a barrier. A bubble I move in.
Nonsense of course. I could make friends. I've done it before. I'm good at it.
Superficial sort of thing though. I never feel I belong.
I suppose that's my fault. No one really does belong anywhere.
It helps, though. It does. When undergoing hardship. Today it is raining. I can see specks of white water carried on the wind, and pushing everything down. I'm going to cycle to work through that, as I always do. And it's fine that I will. It's fine that I choose this over the bus. I am the sort of beast that can shrug it off.
It will probably rain on the way home. I will trudge in exhausted and soaked, and I will tend to myself before I collapse. No one can do that for me.
I remember the one wise thing I was told as a child.
No matter what your situation is, where you are, or who you are with, you are alone. And you have to be the one to take care of yourself. No one else will.
This is conditional for most, of course, and relates to the temporary nature of the care of others - people die, people change.
But for me, it's more of a constant.
I have to look after myself. I can't let myself succumb to the cold, to sickness, to madness. As I was told, I must shelter and protect myself as if I were my own precious child - for that is all the shelter and protection from people I may be afforded.
And that's all right.
That /has/ to be all right. It can't not be, or I won't have a way forward.
I feel like a sheep among wolves. Crawling through a hollow world, of unknowable people.
This is awful. I shouldn't submit this. Fuck it, no one's looking.
I'm not upset, reader, if there is a reader. I'm just struggling to accept my lot. I am accepting it though. Slowly, bit by bit. With every reminder, I accept it a little more.
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