An exercise in vulnerability. Or some vent into the void.
When I was younger, I was afraid that if I were ever to live alone, I would simply rot away into nothingness. I would become so tired of the dull minutiae that make up the upkeep of my body and space, that I would simply give up, succumb to decay and time.
I feel like it’s easy for me to enter these stretches of my life where everything fades away and blurs together, and I just move through the gray motions of life numbly, until I randomly shake it off. Get myself together.
These long empty stretches used to feel like outliers, but for the last couple of years, they seem more like inevitable – like I spend much of my life trying to stave off the grayness, the overwhelming emptiness, and when I drop my guard, it comes again.
Now that I’m in college and have become a little more used to living alone, I know that I will not, at least, start to neglect taking care of myself enough to just … pass away from a tiredness. And I hope one day too that I will be able to shake this feeling of waiting emptiness.
There is this specific one-sidedness to these blog posts. It’s all static content – I write something, I release it into the world, and it sits. Maybe people read it, maybe people don’t. I have no way of knowing, really, beyond what people tell me through other channels. It’s like nailing down a letter in the middle of the woods, and then walking away.
Except this letter only rots, disappears, falls away, when I want it to1
In some of my drafts for other posts, I seek a response, I specifically ask people to overcome this format, to find me, to tell me their thoughts. But for this one, the silence suits me just fine.
And even then, it would still exist for a little bit as memory that is no longer charted, waiting to be overwritten. Still recoverable, still discoverable. Just a little bit harder to find than it was before … or maybe my hosting will expire first. And then this post too will rot away. ↩