*disclaimer: i wrote this over like seventeen days. it's ugly. i keep revising it and revising it, but it's not getting any better. seriously, this post is a mess. also, it won't kill me if you never read it. whatever. it's more for me than anything, anyway.*
Oh, hey. Remember me? Sort of MIA for a while. I'm not entirely sure how to come back to this blogging-thang, or if I even want to. (I mean, I really want to, but I don't really know how.) There's been about 54 drafts since my last post, but you'll probably never see any of them in their half-written shining glory-puke.
The entire world isn't sparkly and bright and sexy like I wish it was, but whatever. I'm lost in this weird semi-hidden void I call My Insane Mind That Won't Shut Up, which is filled with unwritten poetry, dried-out paint, and a blackhole the size of Oregon. But the real live scary thing is this: There's no one there but me. I'm trying to get out of it, at least, I'm trying to remember how to talk to actual humans. Do you want to know how many actual real friends I have right now in the exciting! land of Provo? Two. And one of them moved last week.
I mean, yeah, I know a lot of people. I talk to people (sometimes). But people I actually hang out with on a regular basis and make connections with and regularly talk to? There's not a whole lot.
I guess things are just easier when you can sit on your bedroom floor listening to The Arctic Monkeys and The Smiths and not talk to anyone, ever. (Also, you can do this in the school library. Except then you have to avoid couples that make out between bookshelves on the third floor. Holla.)
Oh, hi, my name is Rachel and I suck at making friends. I used to be really good at it, back in middle school or something. I had a lot of friends, and a Best Friend Group with nicknames and all that jazz. Then I went to high school and sort of kept those friends, and sort of didn't. It really depended on the day of the week. Then I did this thing where I started to quit caring what people thought about me and a lot of people walked out of my life for good, and a few really good wonderful people walked into it. I wish I knew those people better.
I guess what really happened was College: Year One, or The Year I Forgot How To Make Friends. This was the real beginning of my slow descent into becoming this weird dream-zombie girl with zero friends. I moved to Orem, and I started hating everyone just because they weren't people I already knew and loved and wanted to keep knowing. Or I was scared of them. I mean, I do this thing where I get really invested in people, and I make them out to be some glorified pretty version of themselves and when they leave, I get really sad and think I won't make any friends as good at them ever again. It's stupid. It's ridiculous. It's probably why I don't have that many super-good-best-friends. I'm too scared I'll get way too invested and they'll leave forever.
Provo was good to me in the beginning. College: Year Two started off with good people and good weather. I decided I'd make a million friends and find a good College Best Friends Forever group. And I thought I did. Then October happened and hey, I had two friends that stuck around and that was it. The good news: those two people are even better than the glorified pretty versions of themselves I created. They are the ones that actually wonder what happened when I disappear in my room for days without talking to anyone. They are the ones that actually stayed. Then one of them moved and I'm worried I'll forget how to still be friends.
What's weird for me is that out of all the people I've ever met, I keep finding pieces of people I've invested myself into in everything around me. His shoes are the same as my high school best friend's. Her earrings are something my middle school neighborhood BFF would buy if I still know her. The way that boy says the word 'anyway' is the same way a boy I knew in high school spoke to me. I keep finding little bits of everything I've loved in my friends, in other people. But I still can't force myself to make friends like that again because I sort of forgot how to.
The whole thing is confusing/strange/weird and I kind of feel like I'm just really disconnected from everyone. Ignoring people and refusing to make small-talk is one of those things I'm really, really good at. I know, I'm hard to love.*
Whatever.
I started writing again. And my heart felt like it was bleeding onto the pages of my journal. I picked the scab off and bled a lot of the words I couldn't say in the last few months. I tried to say them out loud, but nothing came out. I keep finding myself hiding behind the silence. It's easier, you know? Actually saying things out loud brings the pain to the surface, makes it more permanent, and what am I supposed to do with that? Actually admit that I'm lonely?
A few nights ago I went to an event that made me nostalgic for days I haven't seen in two years and people I forgot I loved. I fell in love with words again, and I started emerging from this weird dream-zombie state I've been living in since November. I mean, it's going to be a process. And it's definitely going to be hard. But it's going to happen, because if it doesn't, I'll miss out on all the wonderful people that are around me right now. There's so many people with so many things that make them who they are. What's the point of it all if I miss out on really meeting people in my life? Yeah, I guarantee I'll make up some glorified pretty version of said person, but if I give it a chance, maybe I'll find myself some College Best Friends that will stick around. At least for a little while.
"You lick your lips. You taste like years of being alone." -warsan shire
xoxo,
rachel.
*I wrote a weird half-post about this way back in December 2013. Maybe if I'm brave enough, I'll dig it out of the archives and post it. Maybe.
**I'm sorry if this came off as dramatic, angsty, or overall terrible. I don't mean it to be, but here it is. Take it as you will. It's my blog, after all.
