Apologies to All

A good friend’s troubles inspired me to spend a chunk of the evening reading through old entries, especially the ones from around the time I had my spectacularly maudlin meltdown a few years ago. In a way, I was looking for a little reassurance, for some proof that the doldrums that have been dogging me for a while now aren’t so bad when you look at the big picture. Well, I suppose they’re not. It’s not very encouraging, though, to realize that I’ve slipped back into some very bad habits I thought I’d kicked. The overall dullness of my posting for so long now is really just a symptom — granted, it’s a real obvious symptom once you notice it — that I’ve gone back to pushing, pushing, pushing my feelings as far down as humanly possible, and at the very least hiding them when I can’t successfully suppress them. The way I feel it, this has led to me becoming the most boring, dispassionate me that I can ever recall being. The last few weeks of sitting around the house more than usual have reminded me how much I’ve retreated into myself over time, making a bad habit out of what once had been an emergency measure.

I am one frustrated motherfucker. I’m frustrated with myself, and with lots and lots of things about my life. I’m keenly disappointed about a few things, and mad at myself for not doing more to make them happen, or keep them from happening. For instance, I seem to have shut out most of the people who would have intentionally or accidently called my bluff. After all, if you’re trying to avoid the obvious, you probably avoid the people who know you best. Even worse, you probably don’t even notice you’re avoiding them until you realize you’ve already alienated them.

Which is stupid. And cowardly. And fucked up.

I’m not sure when a touch of reserve gave way to my being an impassive asshole. I’m sure it was just a slow accumulation of teeny decisions. Cue the development of my internal monologue: “No, I have a lot of work to do.” “No, I don’t have the energy to go out and be cheerful.” “No, I don’t wanna explain what’s on my mind.” “No, there’s so much catching up to do.” “No, I really owe them an apology more than dinner and a movie.” “No, we haven’t talked for so long that I can’t just call and pretend I haven’t been a jerk.”

Suddenly, I notice how lonely I am, and what an insensitive idiot I’ve been. But I don’t wanna face up to it, so I shove it all down a little further and move along. Of course, I definitely don’t write about anything that I ought to talk about first, so you the public get another post about TV or current events or something. Remember when I has stuff to say? I do.

So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry in a general to way to anyone who still bothers to read this nonsense, but mostly I’m sorry to a particular handful of people I love for not talking to you in a long while, or for making you think I didn’t want to talk to you. I do — desperately — but I’m pretty ashamed that I dropped the ball so often and let things deteriorate so much, especially since I want so badly to know how you’re doing. If you have any forgiveness left, I’ll try not to be such an insensitive/oversensitive jerk anymore.