A Good Conversation

I must, I must. If I do not continue to reach out to people I will surely slip away, and I'm already more than halfway there. I want to let go so badly. I want to drift off into the sea and sink, and sink, and sink. Until nothing but cold darkness surrounds me entirely. Then maybe this feeling will go away. This feeling that I haven't been able to shake for 8 years. As every day passes it gets harder and harder, and I cannot fathom why. The only thing that I can do is distract myself, with friends, family, girls and whatever else that might bring me pleasure.

Pleasure that is my problem and my passing desire. For my shallow self it is the greatest thing to help keep me peaceful. Yet I also enjoy good conversations, and I had one just a couple days ago. It started well, about God, which is something that has always interested and confused me. I enjoyed listening to the different perspectives of everyone and I wanted to hear more, I wanted to see what else they had to share, what information they might have that I do not. Perhaps information that would help me in some way. Insight towards the world that I had not considered, and I listened, hearing things I had not heard, and wanting the conversation to continue, but then it was my turn to talk.

I spoke but I was too afraid to watch. I stared at the floor as I began to explain myself. I knew what they felt as I shared my view the world, my understanding of life and my greatest desire. I knew what they were thinking, I knew what their faces looked like. Two of the people who know me better than most, two people that I hold very dear to me, sat and listened, growing depressed and solemn as I explained what I wanted more than anything else in the world. Yet, they do not understand or they would feel so bad. I knew what they thought and felt without having to look, and yet even as I explained myself they do not fully understand me. How can they, when life is such a precious thing to them. I do not understand the drive or desire towards such a goal, but I know it is something that I have lived with for a long time and has not faltered.

But there was another reason I did not look, another reason I was afraid. There was a person there that had not heard the story before, someone that barely knows me, someone that now knows the darkest part of me. It is not an impression I wanted to leave with anyone. My story sounds like one of self pity or a cry for help, and that is not the case. I do not want either. What I did want was to see her face as I said my thoughts, but I was too scared to look. I wanted to know if she might have some information that I don't have--maybe she knew why I'm this way. I could not guess what she was thinking, I could not guess what she was feeling, and I could not guess the expression on her face. I imagine it was one of confusion, when someone is introduced to an idea that is completely ridiculous and sort of stuns them, but again I did not have the guts to look, nor did I have the guts to ask her. Maybe she knows why I'm broken, and maybe no one does.

People to have good conversations with are hard to come by, and I do not imagine another one is in my near future. This is also the reason I primarily listen, when I speak my mind I often end up derailing the entire conversation. It is best just to keep to myself, I can only trust my thoughts with myself. (I write this line as I post on a public blog) Of course that's one of the reasons I started this, to see if perhaps someone has an answer for me that I do not have.