epiphany

Ocean View

I suspect that I shall always be alone. I say this not because I wish to be alone or because I think that no one ever wants to be with me. I say it because it is what I think. If I end up being wrong, it will come as a pleasant surprise.

When I say that I will always be alone, I mean that I do not expect ever to marry. My reason is that no matter what my outward circumstances may be, inwardly, I am isolated. My isolation is partly willed but mostly not. It often seems to have a self-cultivating life of its own.

I am isolated because I do not understand other people, and therefore, I do not think that others can truly understand me. Rarely do I connect with people on anything more than a greeting or acquaintance level. My few attempted relationships with girls on a level greater than "friends" failed partly because of this. I communicate by sharing what I am thinking. But what I say is more than just what I think: it is who I am. I cannot divide myself into separate compartments of thoughts, words and actions. For me, words do not happen without thoughts. Thoughts without actions are empty. Words without actions are lies (or frustration). Unless it is a situation involving advice, when I tell someone what I think, I am usually not giving a simple opinion. I am trying to share who I am and give part of myself to that person.

That, unfortunately, leads to a great danger. Under the way my mind works, rejecting the thought is nearly equivalent to rejecting of some aspect of the person. My response to this seeming rejection from others is, in the case of mild rejection, to try to explain the ideas until the other person at least understands the concepts or, in the case of flat out rejection, to minimize the relationship. Of course, the closer the relationship, the more personal the thought-rejection feels. Working the opposite direction, if I disagree strongly with what someone else thinks, I assume that the other person and I are basically incompatible. (That, however, is less likely to actually result in a significant change of relationship.)

Just as people change, thoughts change. But rarely do people (or thoughts) mature unrecognizably. Looking at a photo of our friends as children, we often comment on how much the person has changed. But in reality, the change is less significant than the similarity. We see how the eyes and mouth are the same, how the nose retained its basic shape. Though different, your friend is still your friend. The same is true for our thoughts. They age, mature and grow. Taken individually, some thoughts will appear vastly different, just as one's voice may lower during puberty or some features change drastically. But taken as a whole, the person's thoughts are likely still recognizable, a logical maturing of the mind.

The exception would be the results of an accident, some kind of breakage or scarring. A physical accident may significantly change a person's appearance, even after reconstructive surgery has attempted to restore the person's original image. Mental scarring may also leave a person unrecognizable, completely changing the "face thoughts" you knew (though once you are able to move beyond the surface thoughts, the person may have changed little as far as their inner self is concerned). I know of no surgery to heal a broken mind, and time has little power to heal mental scarring.

This has added to my sense of isolation and my inability to communicate. I feel like somewhere along the line, and I don't know where, why or when, something in me broke. Sometimes I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself, especially when I look into my own eyes. But nearly every time I look inside my head, I am at a loss as to who I am. I do not recognize my own self. I watch my life in third person, knowing what to do and how I ought to feel or react but truly feeling little or none of it. How can I relate well to others when I do not know myself?

I believe that a significant amount of this emotional difficulty comes from my younger television-induced concept of the ideal man, which amounted to the absence of emotion. Through years of effort I found that it was indeed possible to subdue some emotions—basically, those we would think of as positive. However, it is nearly impossible to subdue the negative emotions, for they fill the space left by weeding out of happiness, excitement and love. I did not notice this phenomenon for many years, at which point the positive emotions seemed to have nearly died out in my heart. Now that I realize the benefits (and necessity), the gift of emotions, I have difficulty controlling them. Most of the time what I feel is sadness, an aching sadness deep and broad as the ocean across which, someday, I shall find and know rest, quietness and joy. (This is why, sentimental though it is, Howard Shore's "Into the West" makes me physically quake with rage, longing and grief. It is the song of my deepest and most painful desire.)

That is why I believe I will always be alone, for I know of no path to where I am inside, and people do not tread the wilderness without business or purpose. No matter where I may be or what I may be doing, my heart sits alone on a misty shore, waiting for the tide to swallow me and bear me away from my isolation and grief.

Posted by at June 30, 2004 1:45 PM