"It is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence — that which makes its truth, its meaning — its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream — alone…" - Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
I don't sleep well - or a lot? It's a toss up of which on whatever night. Every morning is particularly painful because I just want to fucking sleep, but never can. Either I can't logistically (hello, very awake small child) or emotionally (which is to say there's a nagging feeling that, "I'll sleep when I die," when I lay in bed). It's a sort of "fomo" - fear of missing out - though it's more of a "fear of missing life," however mundane that life may actually be. Because I like living, but I am wracked with anxiety about actually living. Living/existence is hard when you're fully conscious of the fact you're mortal. In fact, I really understand the whole, "eternal life- Jesus Saves!" sort of mentality, but I'm too cynical to commit to believing wholeheartedly in anything of the sort.
There are certain people we come across in our lives that serve a purpose of "seeing us." Simply offering corroborating evidence that another living-breathing-thinking-feeling human being acknowledges our existence. Sometimes that "bearing witness" plays role in saving our lives, too. And I don't necessarily mean that in a literal sense per say, although it can most definitely be the case. In moments of great stressors, in times of anguish, a nod toward another person can mean much more than either could imagine, which is why the meme "check on your friends, even the happy ones," get shared so often in social media spaces.
So it's rate and odd and special when I share moments of total, "we're fucked" mentality on even a low key level with another person. It's like a mutual nod to the fact that we're gonna be dead at some point - and it's normal and OK, but still absolutely terrifying on some level (tangentially, this is also how I view "loud" music, as in live or at least a fully immersive headphones experience. There's a degree of terror in being subsumed into the vibrations, but also a massive release of control- kinda sexual. Which, I suppose, music is for many. Repetitive, undulating, throbbing. All ways I'd describe the rhythm sections of my favorite bands, and also a pleasurable sexual experience ;) ) . So when I meet people that I feel have the same insight into life, appreciate gallows' humor, and maybe even share that feeling like they're barely functioning as a sane being under the surface, et al, it's hard for me to want to be without them. And that in itself is terrifying too because one day that will be true for any sort of partnership- familial, romantic or otherwise.
Recently, I finished the first season? (stand-alone?) of the series, Russian Doll. In it, two main characters grapple with repeatedly dying and being reanimated until they figure out the path their lives should have/could have taken to ensure their survival. Though it's relayed through quite a bit of dark humor, in the end, both characters realize the person who saw them as they were - not as a projection of what someone wanted them to be - and who continued to care about their existence was the one most important to them in that moment of turmoil. A true friend.
Unlike those characters, we do not have the luxury to live over; there's no opportunity to try and try again. When someone reaches out a hand toward you, either looking for help or trying to help you, don't refuse it. It's easy to recoil and resist, to "go it alone." Take the stoic way out - make no contacts, have no strings attached - it seems a lot easier and "cleaner" than dealing with the potential of loss and heartbreak.
Despite my love for and belief in the existential essence of the epigraph at the beginning of this post, on a practical level, it's not true. We aren't alone. Our lives are our own to experience in the way that we do. However, once you notice that someone else "sees you," it's difficult to accept that we're ever truly alone, or even meant to be.
Recently, I finished the first season? (stand-alone?) of the series, Russian Doll. In it, two main characters grapple with repeatedly dying and being reanimated until they figure out the path their lives should have/could have taken to ensure their survival. Though it's relayed through quite a bit of dark humor, in the end, both characters realize the person who saw them as they were - not as a projection of what someone wanted them to be - and who continued to care about their existence was the one most important to them in that moment of turmoil. A true friend.
Unlike those characters, we do not have the luxury to live over; there's no opportunity to try and try again. When someone reaches out a hand toward you, either looking for help or trying to help you, don't refuse it. It's easy to recoil and resist, to "go it alone." Take the stoic way out - make no contacts, have no strings attached - it seems a lot easier and "cleaner" than dealing with the potential of loss and heartbreak.
Despite my love for and belief in the existential essence of the epigraph at the beginning of this post, on a practical level, it's not true. We aren't alone. Our lives are our own to experience in the way that we do. However, once you notice that someone else "sees you," it's difficult to accept that we're ever truly alone, or even meant to be.
