My Bipolar Journal – Episode 167
January 20, 2008
I’m greatly confused. Either I give off some sort of expectation vibe or people are expecting that I expect things from what they’ve heard from unreliable sources. My expectations are generally not what you think they are and they are definitely not what anyone has told you. I expect people to be themselves. I expect people to not feel like they have to hide something from someone they love. I don’t want to ever have any secrets from anyone. If you are friends with someone, but are afraid your “girlfriend” or “boyfriend or “fiancee” or“husband” or “wife” might take it wrong, maybe you should reevaluate your mate. No one should have to be anything less than exactly who they are all the time. It’s kind of ironic to me that the people you say that you’ve chosen to put on some pedestal above all others and give some bizarre title to is the one you have to hide the most from. It’s like the more you love or think you love, the more less of you, you actually become.
And what is it with all these titles anyway? This selection process. It could actually be viewed as some form of communism. You value or think someone is more important or worthy of time and attention because you’ve put them in some sort of social class. It’s really all quite sick when you break it down. Sometimes I do feel like I’m naked with my head shaved heading towards some sort of torture device just being around people like you. Sad thing is, almost everyone is someone like this. Everyone is conditioned to be this person. Everyone has expectations for me and for you though. Most of them are false. Most of them make the other person’s life feel like it’s less.
Only when people realize that you used to be this person and that you used to have this life do they feel like they can connect to you and mostly because they’re looking for a way out. They want you to make the excuse for them because it’s too hard to make on your own.
There are a few different types of people in the world. There are people who get really happy when you say you’re getting married because they think that it must be just fabulous. What they’re really excited about is having a wedding. I saw a show on TLC about exploiting your wedding (well, that’s what I think it is). The bride wanted to walk down the street in her wedding dress with an entourage of her “less important people” for the day. She said it was because it was an old tradition from back in the “Days of Yore” or some bullshit like that. All she really wanted was people to look at her.
The other type of people who get really excited when you say that you’re getting married because now they have someone that is now going to be stuck in the misery of marriage with them. They feel better that they aren’t the only ones that made a stupid decision and pretty soon they’ll have someone to talk to about how awful their husband or wife is and not have to feel as guilty. People who haven’t been married before always try to help you find the good in whatever you’re saying when really you just want someone to agree.
There is a group is small and considered insignificant to all the people who are so happy about marriage. They’re the people that realize that being happy lies in yourself and being your true self and that you don’t have to rely on some person that you have to be half a person around anymore. Most of them have been married before and have simply realized it’s not for them and that life is feeding them bullshit on a silver platter.
Then lastly, the final group is the group of people who marriage was invented for. They are the smallest group of them all. They are the people who can be themselves around each other at all times and never have to feel like they will need to use marriage as an excuse. They got married because there was nothing else they could do but get married. They weren’t really concerned with the party or if people even knew they were getting married or not. They simply are. They simply exist. Sometimes, they don’t even get married because the vast majority of people have ruined the concept for other people. And they don’t really care either. Sometimes they get married anyway, but it’s not the focus of who they are or an excuse to avoid people. I’ve met two. Ever. They know who they are. In fact, you probably know who they are.
One thing I know is that a majority of people that read this will never be part of this last group. They will join ranks with the first two and then judge the third group because they’re jealous of their happiness. They’ll except the smallest group, but will always be confused by them. Funny part is that you’ll all think you’re part of the last group. You’re not. I’d just be happy if you’d find the third group and shut up about trying so hard to be a part of the “in” crowd. It didn’t work for you in high school and it’s not going to work now. Just be happy.
I spent a lot of time in my car the last few days and several of you crossed my mind. This blog isn’t about any one of you in particular, but most of you. Thing is, that no matter which of you crossed my mind and why, it was because I love you and I only hope that you all find happiness. I love my life. I’m not disappointed. It is missing one special part, but the problem with Him is that you both have to be that type of person and He’s just not. I think He will be one day, but it’s either going to take a long time or He’ll spend too much time trying to be a part of that special class of people I’ve described at the end. It will make me sad, but it will never stop me from loving Him or being there for Him. Just like it won’t for you either. I love my job. I have everything I want in my life and I’m 30. I don’t really know anyone that can say that and I just hope that I can be there when one of you do.
I drove in my car for six hours this weekend. I didn’t have to answer to anyone about why I did it or when I would be back or why I was going. People drew their conclusions no matter what though and that’s fine. They were probably all wrong and that’s ok. If I can be there to help you keep making excuses for your life until you find happiness, well then, that is what I will do. All I know is that I stayed the at the best Super 8 off exit 41 on I-70 in Indiana by myself, they let me have a late checkout, they had apple juice, they had an indoor pool, I saw a man with a pet bird in the cab of his car and I met an Asian man (yes, of course he asked me if I was Asian) who looked like the old Asian man in Golden Child, and drank with an hipster chick who might be close to finding her own happiness soon enough. I got to see a beautiful club that gave me a lot of ideas of what I’d like to do with my own club and all because I don’t hesitate to hop in my car, have a wonderful music affair with Fiona Apple and drive to Southern Indiana to a place called Terre Haute that most people wouldn’t glance twice at. Keep missing out on your life and you’ll miss out on all these little things that make me smile all day long.
Paper Bag
By Fiona Apple
I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had
But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope
I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void,' he said
'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything'
But he didn't get it I thought he was a man
But he was just a little boy
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
