I don’t know why occasionally I try to deny some parts of myself. Like right now. I decided to smoke weed. And write. I think that’s one of the things that makes me afraid to write is the fact that in doing so I choose to evade saying certain things about myself that nonetheless I’m thinking (or things I’ve done, thoughts I’ve had). I guess that all leads back to the issue (I guess it’s not an issue) that “me” doesn’t really exist, anyway. It’s a concept and it isn’t real, which is why it’s so hard to define. All the thoughts I’ve had and things I’ve felt and things I’ve done aren’t me at all, just maybe a product of the environment and my genetics and all the input that I’ve received from the external world churned inside my brain that I did not grow myself and put through the filter of the all-knowing soul of which we are all a part of whatever. This is all theory and things I’ve learned from some outside source. And also I’m high, so that has an immediate effect on this all.

Either way, there are pieces that I choose to deny for lack of space or there’s really no point in me saying I find all this corny or useless in some broad sense. I don’t even know why I’m spouting all this anyway. I’m too in my head. Maybe it’s time to meditate more, as per usual I think. We’re all the same anyway. Leading very similar existences kind of. 

I haven’t met a new person in kind of a while. I mean maybe the last like three months or so. I hang around with the same people, day in, day out. Maybe that’s why I feel so odd. I feel like the past two years I’ve been meeting lots of new people, and before that, too—I was constantly encountering new people. And now, silence. Still waters. I have no one knew in months, except briefly and with no real oddly deep connection and change to the way my life functions. I have met no one knew like that since my boyfriend. In fact, I think I’ve lost connections, rather. I got pruned or sucked up into a small shell or something. People just fell off like dead leaves.

I work from my computer. That’s my job. I type type type and I see no one. No one, except the people I’ve known for years or have just gotten close to naturally. Among strangely new acquaintances I’ve made recently, there are few. And like I said, pretty much no one in the past three months.

Part of that makes sense, of course, circumstantially. In my job, I see no one. I see my screen. I don’t have a service job and I don’t go out like every night like I used to. 

I think this new existence has redefined me. I don’t define myself against the natural difference that many others present, nor can I see myself through how others I know perceive me, really. 

I miss it a little bit. Seeing people I-kind-of-know-but-don’t. Now it’s mostly people I know-know. I don’t know how this has affected me. I think I may have regressed. At no other point in my life has this been the case except for COVID and probably some childhood summers. And I don’t know how to feel about it.

It kind of makes me feel like I have to expose myself in other ways to get to the same point of being exposed enough to the outside world, like reaching out to all my friends or just getting deeper which I don’t know how to do. I need to stop caring as much about some things, namely many things. Small things throughout the day. Thoughts I could do better without and that I don’t need to have. Mood I can’t control, though.

My heart doesn’t need to hurt for it to feel like love. I am telling myself that now. I don’t need stupid dopamine-adrenaline fueled highs. Security is enough and it’s hard to get used to. It makes me wonder about things, which makes me wonder why I’m wondering.

I think I need to start reading more again. And talking to more people.