I'm Rambling Again.

Bonkers.

2020 is my year of beginnings. It’s a time for me to shape up, get things moving, figure out where I want to be 1 or 2 or 5 or 10 years down the line. In a lot of ways, this has been a success for me too! Despite all the tragedy 2020 has had to offer so far, I’ve made some progress in achieving my goals, I’m drinking more water, I’m eating a little better, I was going for walks almost every day, I’m setting myself up for success a few months down the line. I didn’t quite get to my goal of writing with any sort of schedule, but I did work on writing. I worked on understanding what it was about writing that made me lose focus or blocked me from creating. Despite how little I do it, I truly love to write, because more so than any other medium, it’s the only way for me to feel truly understood. It’s the only way for me to truly feel like I am creating exactly what I intended to make, something that I never felt drawing or making film. 2020 is my time to set things straight and get myself moving again, after many long years of letting my life slip away bit by bit, waiting impatiently for my chance to die.

This whole COVID pandemic, the forced isolation, not being able to keep taking walks, not being able to go grab a cup of coffee and do some work, It’s changed the way my entire life works, and it’s put a lot of people in similar situations. Things are scary, the world seems big and empty and unconcerned with the life that crashes into it like waves on a beach. The world exists separate from the people who live on it, and always has, although it’s not something I guess I’d ever thought about before. Being inside for the past week, needing my parents to deliver groceries, living every day inside of my own head (not the greatest place to spend any length of time by the way), it’s encouraged me to think and look at myself and what I want without having to concern myself with thoughts about work or friends or family. It’s been a hard few days. When the world starts to move again, what will I do with myself? Now that I’ve been awoken to the fact that I’m still a part of a community of people, a community that lives and breathes, and is currently in isolation along with the rest of us, what do I want to do? What do I want for myself? What do I want to provide for my community? In the faraway past, these questions could be answered so simply “I will make shoes for the horses”, “I will make bread to feed the people”, “I will keep the peace for our community”. In times where communities were nothing more than a few hundred settlers, or a tribe, or even a thriving city, those questions could be answered so simply and with so little doubt. In a digital age, where communities spread across countries, and these community roles are being trivialized or automated, what are the people supposed to do? How are they supposed to feel pride and accomplishment in the things they provide for those around them? It’s hard to find purpose in a world that can run itself. Money is a construct that separates people from the services they provide, and it clouds the soul from perceiving its own successes when they are not profitable. Profit is a cancer that limits the accomplishments of the people it owns, and when all things are measured in dollars, it’s easy to find yourself unfulfilled or desiring something abstract and greater than a number in your bank account.

I am a disconnected person. I don’t have strong feelings of attachment to the people around me. I believe that those in my life would be content to forget I’ve existed, and in large part already have unless I speak to them regularly. I don’t think the people I’ve lost touch with ever spare a thought towards me, and as much as I want to lie and say I’ve grown accustomed to it, the truth is I’ve never felt the warmth of a community, even if that community has been present in my life I don’t allow myself to acknowledge that fact. I keep myself away because I’m afraid. It’s ironic then that what forced me into the world, what forced me to indulge in communities and allow myself to feel support from people who freely give it to me was the loss of it in a tangible sense. I watched the news for the first time this week, not because it was the first time I’ve had the desire to be informed but because it was the first time I considered myself to be a part of the world around me. I felt, for the first time maybe in the past decade, that maybe at the end of the day, I don’t have to be a stranger. I don’t have to fade away from the memories of people I care about. Maybe out in that cold dark world, people just might miss me when I abandon them. This quarantine brought up the possibility that I’ve been self-isolating for a few years longer than the government has recommended. Not to get too sad about it but it’s hard to be so selfish as to make someone care about you when in your heart you know it only means they’ll miss you more when you leave. And I’ve always felt like I had one foot out the door.

I think this decade is going to be the start of a very long healing process for me, and it’s going to take a lot of time before I can take any steps to correct these behavior patterns and get myself to a place where I can feel joy for the first time since middle school. Although I’m glad I’ve started to realize these things, it’s tragic to think that it took a global crisis to help me acknowledge my trauma and move to fix it. I still feel alone, disconnected, like a ghost that passes through your perception, disappearing the moment I leave your sight. For a long time, I wasn’t sure I existed at all, if I was alone for more than a day I couldn’t remember if there was ever a time where I was real. Loneliness is better than apathy because, in the end, it’s a step towards feeling whole and proving my existence to the world. I want to exist. I want to be acknowledged as having been and continuing to be, I want to prove to myself that when push comes to shove, you can be a little selfish if it means being loved and loving the people around you.

Bonkers.