The best way I’ve found, to address the situation that I should be talking about but cannot talk about is to shift to the last thing I was afraid to talk about. Does that make sense? Maybe. I’ve tried for weeks to write..ANYTHING..at all, and have come up unsucessful. It’s not a writers block, it’s a fear. Fear of what? Well, that’s the thing, I’m not ready for that yet. Anyone who knows me, knows what I mean, but, I don’t…look, there’s an emotional place I go when I write, and write now, going to that place… well.. it’s a hard place to be, so the best way to get around that? Deflect that pain and emotion onto something else?
I’ve done a lot of internalizing and thinking over the past month or so, reflecting on the past year, and everything it brought, and took away, and getting ready to be.. well, older.
Recently, there was a situation I was a part of, a part in? And, I allowed myself to be in a situation I had no business being in. Because I was beyond it. (I really wanted a better transition here) But my biggest failure, ultimately didn’t come from who I was or who I wasn’t, but what I was trying to do. And not that what I was trying to do was necessarily bad, but my method, they way I chose to do it was.
I attempted to recreate, reconstruct, a series of events, because I was trying to recreate a specific feeling. A feeling from a point in my life that no longer exists, a happy feeling, a feeling that cannot exist again, because the circumstances that brought about this particular warm and happy, elated, feeling cannot happen again, will never be the same. For one thing, the main thing, I’m not longer the person I was the first time, and she (oh hey, here’s a clue to what I’m talking about), despite all physical simularities, was not the same person at all. But from this, my stubbornness persisted. I argued to the contrary, but I continued to push and tried to press on to something that would never work, that was doomed to fail from the start, but my instance (at least in my own mind), because it had worked before, that it could again. Because the situations felt similar, or at the very least I viewed them as similar, I made them similar, because I wanted them to be similar, I wanted this to take it’s place.
The most alarming thing to me, is that it took me THIS long to realize what I was doing, and why. Maybe I always did. But my bigger crime, along with the disingenuous situation I created, was the fact that I tried to recreate a perfect point in time, in my life, and in doing so, ran the risk of undermining the importance of both events and had my feeble lazy attempt actually worked, it would have ruined the specialness for, well, everything.
I’m not sure what my ultimate lesson, what my take away from all of this is, aside from a fairly painful self realization. Perhaps it’s a chance to correct things (not the situation), but at the very least, not allow them to happen again.