Image: Washington Park, Oregon. 35mm Kodak Portra 800
Note: This was the first post on my old Tumblr blog.
Here I am, quiet to the world.
Why don’t I speak much? I’m mostly alone in my daily life, but that doesn’t mean I have to be silent. And if I’m honest with myself (which is a feat of its own), I do enjoy conversation. Even if it’s with myself~
So this is where I start. Alone but speaking.
Well, actually, that’s a good question. Where do I start? I suppose since I’m an anxious kind of mermaid, I’ll give you my fears.
Part 1 - Worries
Death mostly. Although it’s been something I’ve been trying to get better about. I do find it oddly comforting knowing that every single human on this planet will die. And that I will enter and experience this along with them. But like every other entity that’s lived and contemplated its own mortality, attempting to imagine an infinity of nothingness before the moment of my birth, an infinity that I will rejoin the moment of my death, destroys me.
That couples into loneliness. Which is awful. And part of me resents writing about it, as it’s so fucking cliche for the angsty blog writers of the modern world. But it doesn’t make it less biting, or that hollow in my chest less gnawing. We’re so goddamn social it’s wired into our biology. But I have no family. And ever since the divorce, I have no friends. That’s not correct, I do have some, mind you. But we’re getting older, and shared time is harder to come by. Laying down to an cold bed is the worst part of my life right now. It’s nothing sexual, in any way. I just miss having someone that close. Someone’s sleeping shoulder to smoosh my face into at 3 am when I wake up. Someone’s regular breathing. Someone else’s thoughts, emotions, and desires, connecting/growing together with mine like spiderwebs. Or tree roots.
I’m growing an avocado tree on my windowsill. It just sprouted.
And I’m not actually worried that I’ll be alone. I’ve never had trouble finding people to date, and I know that eventually I won’t be unhappy with someone. I know, with the rational part of my brain, that through random chance, even in my 30′s, that I’ll eventually find another person(s) that make(s) me happy.
But that doesn’t mean shit when you die. That’s alone, and that’s forever. It doesn’t matter who you are, how much money you have, how much power you build, who’s holding your hand when it happens. You, me, we will die. And we will die alone.
Thus I fear death. Death and a cold bed.
Hopefully the latter resolves before the former.
Part 2 is next. We’ll be less morbid and go with ~Dreams~ for that one.