As soon as I met him I knew it would be terrible. A person so determinedly self-involved can’t help but hurt the people around him. I even set myself up by caring about his feelings and investing in his well-being. I spent energy trying to understand and empathize with his troubles, no matter how ridiculous. He fabricates stress from situations that he’s not involved in. Classic drama seeker, I thought I could stay separate from that aspect and still be his friend. It was working until I needed someone to lean on. The opportunity to dramatize presented itself and he ran with it. Standing firm in the assertion I’m better off alone, I am so goddamn alone.

All I have is what’s in front of me. Tenuous employment and a collection of well-meaning acquaintances. I’m in the middle of a rope bridge that gets more unstable the farther I go. The other side isn’t even in my field of view as I move from one rickety plank to the next. I honestly wish the rope would break just for a chance to relax during the fall. Unable to look back and too scared to look forward I just keep putting one foot in front of another. People around me experience change and make headway. I’m happy for them the same way I envy stupid people for their bliss. If important is relative, I haven’t found anything that truly matters yet. Even death is mundane in today’s reality.

Rebelling against my parents as a teenager felt justified. My rebellious behavior these days feels like unnecessary risk in an uncertain world. Having come this far, I’m not sure I would change if I could. At the very least my failure could provide lessons to future generations. Not that kids are lining up to abandon comfortable lives in order to experience the first world poverty I’ve chosen. I could have moved somewhere practical and stayed comfortable but that’s not the independence I am looking for. If I’m gonna just get by I want to do it on the edge. I haven’t lost faith in my greatness. I’m simply not sure I have enough gas to cross the finish line.

My story has legs, my writing has voice and my life has stability. The painful isolation isn’t new to me, just disappointing. I see people with friends and communities they’ve cultivated over their years in Seattle. None of them have room for a weirdo like me. At best I get appreciation from the self-aware and pity from the content. Slight hope that I’ll bump into a kindred spirit somewhere here in Seattle keeps my feet moving one in front of the other. Knowing I’ll die eventually is the only solace I truly rely on. Even sex isn’t appealing anymore. Being used by someone was erotic and empowering until I looked around to find myself labeled as an emotionless slut. So much for sex positivity.