Back to Reality

Tonight was Caitlin Bibb's surprise party. It went well. And, of course, it reminded me of a queer trait of mine when put in such party situations: I get depressed. Mainly it's when the party-goers are conversing, looking for subjects to entertain in lieu of some movie or activity. It would seem, at least to me, that it's one of the more real activites one can participate in. Yet it generally seems to make me depressed.

I have some rationales for such an emotion. I've been deprived of such interaction with other people for most of my youth, so when it finally occurs I'm reminded of how wasted my life has been so far. The entire practice of "hanging out" always strike me as rather absurd and existential (to use those accursed catch-phrases). There is no purpose to it. It is simply "done" for lack of anything better to "do." That's not to say I dislike it or would like to avoid it, but it brings out that "adrift in a sea with no path or direction" feeling.

I look at my peers and think, "These people all have stories, tragedies and triumphs that I'd find quite interesting. I don't know them. I recognize them, I know how they generally act, I know a bit about their families, but I don't know their true histories. I don't know them." I feel like I'm wasting oppurtunities to experience the lives of others. I breached the subject tonight, and while Caitlin seemed enthusiastic, no one volunteered any information. I couldn't think of anything suitable. All I can remember is either depressing/harrowing or comic in a had-to-of-been-there way. I have no "good memories" (aside from parts of last semester), probably because when I really cared I was always stressed or escaping and now I seem to lack the ability to relax and truly enjoy myself. But I want to know the depressing stories of others. I want to know the drama, the type of environment you were raised in, the momentous events of your life. It really intrigues me. I sometimes see seas of people at a ballgame or in traffic or another situation and think, "Every one of them has a story. Every one of them is an epic in the making. It's awe-inspiring, the magnitude of years and experiences all these people much have experienced."

And yet, I don't really know much of anyone. Elizabeth and partially Kelly seem to be the only ones. Perhaps other people don't really have the dramas that I'm imagining. I like to Romanticize conflict, as you may have noted above. But I truly think it's interesting. The events that shape one's life and being are worthy of such epic treatment. Certainly few individual events can make a monumental impact, but stories can tell of a trend or give an example of a pervading mood that helped to mold you. My father, for example, took $20 from me when I was around 5 because I drew on the family vehicles with sidewalk chalk (I wrote ZOO because my sister and I were playing zoo and needed cars to carry food to feed the animals). It was the most money I'd ever had, the culmination of a recent birthday, the bill was the composite of my life's savings up to that point. And he took it. I believe I received a quasi-guilt trip as well. And that's the earliest memory I have of my father.

It's stories like that. The kind of stories that would depress others or seem trivial, but actually prove to be quite influential. I'll give another. I was older, probably 10(maybe a bit younger) , and my sister put a lot of paper in the toilet so when I flushed it it overflowed. I, being the stressed, hyper-imaginative child that I was, considered this a risk to the entire household because the water could theoretically keep coming until the entire house was bombarded by a toilet tsunami. I shut the door, and to add that extra bit of force so the door could hold longer against the onslaught, I locked it. My father was not pleased. To have a toilet overflowing and the bathroom door locked is not a pleasant experience. So I was spanked and then my sister was, "just to be fair." We lived in fear of my father, and that intimidation remains to this day.

Stories like that. They help explain my guilt and fear. I don't blame my father, he's done quite a bit that's been good too, but I'm still distant and, subconsciously, scared of him.

Party killers, I suppose, unless you're drunk and have a desire to get even more intoxicated.

The subject of my novel came up. Caitlin made some crazy comment about me taking her to the Oscars if one of my works was ever adapted for a movie someday. Comments like that seem rather mocking, for a novel is not the sort of endeavor most teenagers take up, and it does seem rather pretentious to believe you have something to say or the talent to say it. With Caitlin I can't really tell, although her sincerity in wanting to be my date seemed to imply she took the subject rather seriously. (This is one of Caitlin's greater fears, for me to write about her in my blog. Hopefully, if she does read this, she won't have a panic attack. No one will think any less of you for this, trust me Caitlin. I think rather favorably about you still hehe). At any rate, again I'm reminded of how far behind I am and how foolish it seems to spend so much time in the pursuit of mediocrity.

It's not a new feeling though. Perhaps it's an example of what another potential cause of me getting depressed at parties. I'm no longer detached. There's nothing else to focus on but real issues like my novel, like not knowing other people, like wasting the "best years of my life." They're the sort of thoughts that would plague me constantly if I didn't focus my life around escapism. When we're playing board games, I don't get depressed. Not only do I have purpose, I also have something to divert my attention. When I'm "hanging out" my subconscious is in full swing.

Hmm. A possibility. I don't seem to get depressed when I take walks, and I'm not detached then. I have no stress, and that's probably the main reason. I can relax. When "hanging out" I feel pressured to make some purpose for myself, be it listening, speaking, or just listening to music. I need to learn to relax. For all my proclaimed apathy, I really do care about matters of emotion and time. I feel so much pressure to not waste oppurtunities I'll never have again. To get my life on the right track and make the most of it. Then I sit on the computer for hours and hours on end. Escaping. I'm addicted to fantasy. Given reality, who wouldn't be?

I'm too verbose, yeesh. If I did train of thought writing for my novel I'd have twice as many pages as I do. Speaking of the novel, I've noticed my writing style is a tad detached itself. I think that's because most of it's in third person. First person always seem more emotional, but less comical. Food for thought. Pleasant Dreams everyone.