Human Sapiens Sentient Entity AKA Finding Friends

I’m not a fan of people but I realize it when I’ve found the right one. They’re not a certain specific type but I just know it. There’s a common background of being an ultimate weirdo I guess… not a cool kind of strange. The strange kind of strange.

To be honest, people are a mystery to me. I prided myself in staying as far away as possible because there was (and still is) such a sizeable gap between me and them. For years I looked at them amazed because surely, there was something wrong with them! They had different drives and goals and thoughts, dramatically strange and pointless compared to my own.

The great divide was even more noticeable when I tried to immerse myself and try to fit in. I just couldn’t. I tried to read teen magazines and wondered why the fuck people live like this. It was like waiting for my Hogwarts acceptance letter that never came all over again… when was I going to be a part of the crowd? Is everyone else also going through a period of self-doubt or is it just me?

Yes, it was just me.

I’ve never been the one to feed on closeness and friendship, it just so happened that I didn’t need it and could function so much better without it… but you still need to have a connection. My few friends had fatal flaws that clashed with everything I held sacred but I had to bite the bullet and accept them because you never know when you’re going to find new friends. Add crippling shyness and social disgust and you’re basically fucked. Breaking the cycle and becoming a selfish adult was a glorious day because I discarded everyone that no longer fit with my real self.

The friend that I do have now is probably the first person I felt comfortable being real with. I might still be a freak but it isn’t easy learning how to do friendships on a genuine level. She isn’t like me in most ways but also is… if that makes any sense. I guess our minds are on the same wave-length and we’re preparing for the nuclear apocalypse together (that’s a joke but she is totally into those kinds of things).

What’s the point of this?

We might be the same genus but baby, we’re definitely not the same species.

That’s for all of you who are familiar with the taxonomic rank in biological classification. What I mean in a non-asshole way is that you will eventually find your kind.

 

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Death Is Drunk Outside My Window And Keeps Me Up At Nights

I tried curing my fear of death some years ago and ended up writing a story about the actual physical manifestation of the Grim Reaper coming to my birthday party. He was an excellent guest but his smalltalk was forced.

The thing about writing is that it sneaks up on you like a sly motherfucker.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know I was terribly scared of the concept of death, oh… I know that. The words coming out were much more precise though. I subconsiously cocooned myself around morbid memorabilia, curious gadgets and creepy accessories just so I could be better acquainted! I shit you not, all of that just streamed through my writing, I wasn’t even thinking about it. And you can casually throw a glance around my house and my most prized possessions and that much is clear.

Yet I’ve always been peculiar even as a child, before knowing about death and that it can actually happen to mortals, even to people you know. I was practically in love with mummies and the funerary practices in ancient Egypt. Up until that point, it was just childish curiosity.
Now, things get harder the older you get. I’m not afraid of my own death. It’s mostly a terrifying feeling of knowing that the people around me will die eventually and I’ll be there to selfishly bear the brute force of the hit. Because I’ve already done that once and honestly it took a lot out of me, since my coping mechanism is shutting down and pretending that everything is okay. Feeling numb is scary.

Well, I’m not that numb anymore, despite the fact that my face begs to differ… but I’ve come a long way. Everything is better now and I’m honestly in a very good place after working on myself for a couple of years.

But really, it’s all waiting to happen all over again, isn’t it? Why is the natural process of life so damaging if it’s supposed to happen anyway? Shouldn’t we as humans have evovled into accepting things easier and faster? I wish there was a way to celebrate passing through *insert your preferred representation of moving on to a different realm after death*, having a laugh and remembering the good old times and that’s it.
But that’s not it. We are shaped and carved by these momentous events, such as they are and frankly, I didn’t sign up for this.

I see a lot of lost potential in cases like this, I feel robbed and haunted by what-could-have-beens. And it’s just not with the people close to me, it’s with everyone I admire. There could have been much more… and in a selfish way, there could have been more for me to have learned.

Death is a universal idea, a timeless currency that makes the world go round but how long does it take for our universe to resume into normalcy?