post-teen-sadposting

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Indulged an edible and a double espresso, wandered the streets where I grew up. Accidentally walked down the train line where I first found love, felt extremely emotional, missed her but in the way that you wish that they were joining us for dinner, not in a romantic way.. The house I had an awkward almost romance in as a teenager, felt strange to know that that happened, we saw each other on the train the other day but didnt speak. The house I had my first and only one night stand in. The people have moved, grown, and changed and I haven't talked to any of them in so long but these structures persist, who's memories live in my house?

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Last weekend we spoke about grief and a period in our life that contained much of it. It is obvious to me that I did not feel it as intensely as others but also that we percieved others grief differently as well. I remember this whole period aligning cleanly with pubescence, and all the changes that accompanied it. Is it bad that I remember feeling horny more than grief? For me, the world wasn't symbolically centred on those events, I remember them clearly but I guess my mind was somewhat elsewhere. I still feel deep sadness thinking about them, but it doesn't standout as an overwhelmingly sad period in my life. My teenage years were joyfilled, I had friends, I partied, I loved highschool, though I struggled with romance and relationships I think it was par for the course. At 14, I first formed my core group of friends, we would get together most weekends to be teenagers together, hang out, go places, enjoy our newfound freedom. I remember a strange time when I was 15 I deliberately deprived myself of sleep, restricting myself to 4 hours a night for a few months, so that I could read more and more. My friends through a small party for my 16th birthday so that we could all drink in the backroom, a night that would change the next few years of my life. I remember all of these events in vivid detail but not the grief that was interspersed amongst them. It was likely I even continued enjoying the pleasures of life while this all happened as if they weren't happening at all. I can't recall really telling anyone I was going to a funeral but likely we organised social events nonetheless. Perhaps most symbolically, on my 18th birthday I attended another funeral, I remember crying during the service, scoffing biscuits afterwards, and then my aunty dropped me off in the city where I purchased my first legal drink, to take home and enjoy with a group of my friends as if nothing had happened. I guess for me something was different, I don't feel like I avoided it, but also perhaps I am insensitive to the struggles of others. I think that is likely, can someone tell me if I need to go to therapy or not? Thanks in advance.

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I can't quite trace when or why I became attracted to abrasive forms of art but it has turned me into a bit of an asshole. Reflecting on discussions with people I have decided that perhaps I have taken sacreligious sentiment too far and for most people it just makes me almost entirely unapproachable. It also makes me especially predicated to feelings of embarrassment as I reflect on my past obsessions and the way they are now viewed. I think it is incincere to say I enjoy anything thing ironically, it is all genuine, but frequently I find what I enjoyed is different to what others enjoyed about the same object. I don't want this to sound elitest, more that I can't quite reconcile any of it in my own head and I thought this would help, it hasnt.

Anyway, we were discussing my copy of Dante's Inferno, and level of shock that I had actually read it (as opposed to merely own it for clout) was what brought this all on. I am blessed that my interests are deemed socially desirable but I reject the assertion that I hold them because they are desirable.

Anyway I am officially a wanker but I hope that I can reclaim my touch and become sensitive again.

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I have been trying to interogate why I can't let go of feelings I have had for almost a decade now. I think it ties back to the pivotal role it played in the continuing generation of my identity. I am sure I am not alone in feeling slightly embarrassed about who I was as a 12 year old. At the time I didn't dislike myself but I was conscious that I perhaps wasn't going to be conventionally attractive, I was a little awkward in an outgoing way, and definitely too studious to be relatable. I remember feeling at peace with the fact that I might have no friends, never find love, but likely still have a fulfilling life. So to have someone who unconditionally accepted me was (in hindsight) truly revolutionary for me at the time and is probably one of the single most important relationships in my development. Over time things grew and changed but it is likely that in my late teenage years, while my outward identity of confidence, extroversion, and rigour grew from myself, my sense of worth and value to other people became increasingly tied to a single person, who showed me so much love and patience over years and years. I think throughout uni I really struggled with the idea of being worthy of love after that break up and as naive as it sounds it took a while for me to learn that I could actually generate self worth internally. There were some rough times in the middle there, a few partners who suffered diligently by my side, and a period of almost a week where I couldn't see any value to my continuing life after an act that I don't regret but was certainly chaotic. But I think it is all learning. At this stage in my life I have a loving partner (who is sleeping in the other room waiting for a covid test) and many friends but none of whom are the first people who thought me worthy of affection. I miss many of them very much, not just the romantic ones but just everyone who ever showed me kindness when I felt I didnt deserve it. I can remember moments with all of them so vividly that inspire me to cry just at the thought that someone would do that for me, and I struggle to remember moments where I was there for others in the same way. Maybe this asymmetry is painful in itself? I don't believe anyone still reads this (out of the two who I knew did), at least if someone does they prefer me not to know, if anyone does I still think of you all the time and I always appreciated everything you have ever done for me.

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I still often consider writing a letter, an email, or maybe simply a note but I still can't find a way to start that isn't immediately embarassing. Knowing that I feel insecure to begin with puts me off, feeling that I have become to intense. I watched Le Collectioneuse, a film about an indulgent misogynist, who disguises his primitive desire behind words. I felt worse, knowing that this is unwillingly me, unable to sincerely verbalise what I feel, when it comes to love, friendship, or desire. I think I could still learn a lot from everyone but I have learnt that a simple message feels like it isn't enough anymore.

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Falling in love on the train less and less, being in love at home more and more. The price you pay for a caring heart and a place to call home.

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It has been months and months and I haven't thought much of it. Although I think that only a moment might do. A subtle glance, a smug grin, a graze and a friendly embrace or maybe it was just a thought that I thinked.

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In other news I had a dream where all my ex girlfriends got together and discussed me, which is just the most self-centered possible introspection. Feeling pretty good about this one.

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Had a dream that I stayed at our rural holiday house for a month, took photos of plants, eventually developed a field guide for every organism within that 2 acres. Idyllic.

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Spent new years eve with my loving partner and two of my dearest friends. We ate and drank in the hot summer heat until intoxication overwhelmed us. We proclaim an inability to commit, to love and to feel adequate. One of us has recently fallen in love which was overflowing, spilling from the mouth like water from a glacier. While we feel so content that the world has opened up before us we are all deeply fixated on our finest insecurities, dissecting and litigating ourselves against each other in a way that only makes me feel love. I gaze across the room hazily, admiring their features, beautiful eyes and lips flowing loosely, neat beard, kind voice, and the most expressive face you could imagine, nested amongst the flash of disposable film attempting to capture a feeling. Hegel was right, feeling deeply recognised by the people you love is one of a kind. I guess what I am trying to say is that being loved is incredible and the new year was entirely overshadowed by beautiful people I never want to let go.

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I think I am finally starting to get over it all, in this Immediate moment the past feels truly distant and what was will likely never be again and I no longer miss that. I often contemplate writing emails or sending letters because messages feel like they necessitate a reply but then when I sit down to write them I really struggle to find the point. I know that my desire to send them stems from un-litigated discussions about my actions or feelings but at this point I am not sure it is important they are ever discussed. There are so many things I wish I had said or done with regard to so many people that it is mostly just clutter. Things that are in the past, intimate details I cannot share with my closest confidants out of fear of embarrassment or simply that they lack the context of the events and are likely dismissive. When something happens between two people it is almost impossible to retell to anyone else, but eventually even the two cannot likely discuss it, the truth is lost but the burden remains. Since I was 18 I have become increasingly worried that I burden the people closest to me with too much. I haven't spoken to my oldest friend in over a year out of a new fear that we simply wouldn't be friends if we met today. In the past I wouldve shared everything but that is hardly friendship. Is a long interwinding life journey enough to sustain a relationship? I guess the fundamental question is whether it is okay to cold-email someone who once meant a lot to you just to ask how they are? I think the answer is yes, but I will still likely never do it.

Hi,

How are you?

With love,

Harry

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We had a fun Halloween party where the theme was dress up as someone else at the party. There is nothing scarier than the people who know you most intimately boiling you down to a a collection of items of clothing, common phrases, and behaviors but I thought it was neat and novel. The sad outcome of this theme is that it is inherently regressive, the night was spent recalling, recounting, and creating now infamous moments and photos from throughout the history of our friendships. One of my dear friends (who has a habit for saying fake deep things that are mostly just cryptic falsehoods) astutely stated that it was sad we could no longer forge new memories only rehash old ones, compound, regurgitate, synthesize, something about broken clocks. While as a good orthodox marxist I believe that of course all our experiences are reformations of our past ones, but this is only excited with the implication of progress. I remember in the years following highschool we continued to execute our rituals and traditions, but we quickly realized that there was no inherent value in what we were doing, it was simply we had defaulted to the most convenient ways to spend time as teenagers growing up in a semi-rural area. Removed from this setting there was no need to venture into the state forest to consume wine we had looted from our parents, have interminable friday-monday LAN parties, or watch the local sport on a saturday. I still really value my uni friends, and definitely for some of us there is enough to keep us generating new experiences but I sense that the days of that group are numbered, slowly we will be reduced to a collection of photos and a collection of recreated photos. I love you.

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I do crave acknowledgement way more than I should, I know that I cannot demand from my friends or family, leaving only strangers on the street and vague acquaintances at the university. My keep cup, my clogs, my pens in my shirt pocket all a shameless cry for attention. I loathe myself when I catch myself like this. My only serenity is knowing that there are people who genuinely enjoy talking to me and hanging out with me, I am not solely a vessel for attractive properties.

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As an addendum to the previous post, I have been feeling a classic tired/horny combination. I think sexually maturing has been an adventure. French films and Sally Rooney have revised my life in a way no one else could.

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Yknow reflecting on the past couple weeks I have never felt more content in a relationship. Beautiful moments on a daily basis in a home we have created for each other. A mutual understanding that we are busy, individual people, who have our own lives but who can long for each other without yearning needlessly. We share an outlook and enough interests that it feels sustainable, and has been for almost 3 years now. I still hold onto my past relationships as true, there are things about them I miss and perhaps had things gone differently they could have become this, but they didn't. The best is in front of us and hopefully our strange, introspective relationship prospers into the future.

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I can't tell if tutoring is fun because I enjoy imparting knowledge onto growing minds or because my narcissism thrives off of 40 people clammering for my attention

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Goth girl followed me after I dropped my avocado and said she thought my shoes were cute it was sweet but now I am going to kms