I don’t know what to type today. There is no real issue preventing my abilities, willingness, or general motivation. Some days I cannot get out of bed, some days I live in the dark and lie my way out of life. Today was not that. It was actually pretty good. I read some fanfiction, reread the beginning of “You’re a Badass” thinking maybe, this time it will work, maybe it will finally be the book that saves me. I even left the house for dinner groceries, with a list eve, and then COOKED, a healthy meal. Which I ate a normal portion of. All which I took hesitant pride in. Best of all, I once again binge watched all of Sherlock, the only way to watch it. Today was progress. Today was good.
So what do I write about?
What do I write about if not darkness?
Can I not write if I am happy, is this happiness? Is this just what it feels like to not be miserable?
Even as I type this and look back at today, look at my solitary life, I don’t know what I am really feeling. I do know that I have cancelled on every friend to build this cocoon. That when Mycroft apologized to Sherlock about his being in a cell, alone, SOLITARY, I thought that it probably wouldn’t bother me much. I’m surrounded by thoughts I have had, people I have read about, heroes and heroines I have rooted for, riddles I have solved in the dark, tales from yesteryear, reimagining of my own life, lives I have imagined, people I have met and given stories to. I am less lonely alone that I am in a room full of familiar and friendly faces. I’m twenty-eight, and hidden, and todays empty life was the most I could have asked for. Isn’t that sad? Why don’t I feel sad or regret about that?
Should I want more? Do I want more?
I can watch every Harry Potter movie with my eyes closed, I know these characters, these people from all my fandoms, really know them. I have contemplated their decisions, dreamt their dreams, felt their embarrassment, and mourned their losses. I don’t know my friends anymore, not their beliefs or their goals, or even their whereabouts. I chose these diminished relationships every time I declined a call, made an excuse, ignored texts, and turned off the lights and kept the curtains closed-just in case. I did this. I don’t even know if I regret it. Because the only thing better than having that friendship, is the ease of all of the anxiety and fear, the self loathing and unescapable overwhelming panic that comes with not. I breathe alone. I suffocate out there in the world living life.
Maybe I can only write in the darkness.