When you put the moments of your life on the internet and you choose to be honest about it, hiding from the truth of that life is very difficult to do. I find myself taking long looks at my life and considering where I’ve been, what I could have been, who I have become, and where I am going. I don’t know how I got to where I am, and I am not happy about the now if only because my life is a tug of war between satisfaction and constant depression.
What is a life? Is it the plan for the future? The sum of the past? Is it the present day? I see life as the every day routine that I live. In this Covid world I see my life as being more free, because I entirely set my own schedule and decide how and when to do what I need to do and what I love to do. The trouble is I do not do a lot of what I love to do, because I spend time vacillating between what I need to do, an hour or two of gaming that I deeply enjoy, having really good moments with my partner, and slipping into the darkness that is recognizing that these moments I do love are not beneficial to anyone beyond me.
I want to blame Covid-19 for so much, but that would be a lie. Covid allowed me the opportunity to spend more time at home, which was always the goal. Except none of the other responsibilities went away, so time at home stopped being special and stopped being defined as different from time working. It all became one thing, because I allowed it to become one thing and nothing was special as a result. So, life became this long workday in which the basic human connection that powered my most important relationship disappeared and instead of figuring out how to fix that (I do continue to try) I allowed myself to find some basic joy in the moments and the routine and to appreciate what did feel good. On it’s head this is not a bad thing, but it is born of a certain type of neglect that is, at this point, undeniable.
Here is what I know: I am not a good partner. I have a remarkable sense of self preservation that guides me to find moments where I can catch my breath alone. I tend to think of it as the old saying of fix your mask before helping others. That is not the way of a good partnership. But I do it. I fix my mask and thus can survive and even thrive in situations where the people around me are not doing as well. But there is a guilt that comes with that. I feel guilty for enjoying moments of the day when I know things are bad. I feel guilty for having opportunities to write novels and novellas when I know my focus ought to be on the relationship that matters the most that is not working the way it ought to.
I also feel angry. That is the worst part. I feel so deeply angry that something that ought to be so simple and easy isn’t. That this thing that matters so much and rightfully swallows so much of my heart and energy is not successful and I don’t have the faintest clue how to make it better–and I know that there is an expectation that I do know and a general acceptance that I am choosing not to make it better.
I am rambling at this point. And my time is up for such things.