“It is when the feat weary and hope seems vain that the heartaches and the longings arise. Know, then, that for you is neither surfeit nor content. In your rocking chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone. In your rocking chair, but your window, shall you dream such happiness as you may never feel.”
– Sister Carrie, Theodore Dreiser
Have you ever wanted to cry and found that you couldn’t? You’re surrounded by people when the overwhelming feeling of tears borders your soul; or yet, even worse, when you are all alone–rejoicing at the fact and somehow pitying yourself from it all the same–and your tears may cascade as well as from any waterfall, but you are incapable of dropping a single solitary tear or cry. The sentiment lingers, but nothing to show for it. I feel so beset with emotion whilst I ponder over all my predicaments. There is so much I wish to express but doubt that it would be understood by even a most sympathetic spirit. It is with courage that I even dare write this. But that self-same courage fails me when I need it most.
This is no bluff, I assure you. As I sat yesterday in a restaurant with my family and some of our friendly relations, by the window, I stared out at nothing with thoughts swirling in my mind. I ate my food silently, only once my attention being caught by something that one of our relations said. Had it not been that she sat next to me, I would not have even caught it. I spoke quickly and excitedly–surprising myself at my Spanish–and explained the parallels between what was going on in her, and undoubtedly in my, life with the novel I was currently reading. A small bit of insight I betrayed of myself to her. I hastily finished what I was sayign and turned once more to look out the window to think over the new developments. Feeling as though no one could truly understand my situation–or my train of thought, least of all–I did not wish to pursue a conversation with someone that would feel even the slightest bit as I did. A fit of despair rose in me and I felt myself becoming claustrophobic; I was stuck in my seat with seven other people around me and nowhere to go and nothing to say–as if I would. I could not escape what I soon grow weary of. I was becoming aware of the social aspects of my life: and oh, what a life it is!
i wish to rearrange my life and my experiences in a new order. Oh, oh! Why do things hapen as they do? If only it could be reversed much as the mirror plays its tricks on us (where we see ourselves the same, but it’s actually backwards). My body shakes in anticipation at what I write. I feel as though I may reach a point which you may understand but with my unwillingness to explain what is truly bothering me, you shan’t receive one or any. Prior to my social enlightenment or entrapment as it were, if I did not want to attend a gathering it was merely because I did not want to go; now I realize that it is as if I do not make a showing there must be some reason to it all and if not, word soon spreads like flames at my insolent behavior. Why must we speak to anyone at all? Can I not just sleep my life away? I have come to know that in my sleep my thoughts follow me. But that is not always the case so I am not reluctant to slumber; however, when natural time comes to awaken the full force of my thoughts come flooding in. Damn the broken damn upon this river. Again, entrapment advances. I see no way out.
My mind is undecided: one moment I think it best to live happily and make friends and keep up my relations while another moment I think it wise to stay alone forever; which is best? I’m trying to let you know that I’m better off on my own. Still I am hesitant to be alone; it is what I fear the most. But all the people I care to keep on calling on have long gone and perhaps I only considered them important in my past. It may be that I once held people at a higher esteem and my memory recalls them as important. With a clear head, though, I can come to the realization that they are most likely no different than the people in my life now. Whatever happened to them, and what of them, and them? Do they ever think of me and what has become of me? Most likely not; the more likely they are content with their lives and going on day by day, leaving the people they once knew behind. I can think of many examples of people that behave like the latter mentioned. Of course, names will remain only in my thoughts. I know perfectly well which category I fit in, me being the one writing this and all. I hae not yet forgotten a face. Everyone is important. Consider everyone valuable. I’ve learned that although at first glance one may not seem to strike a match with someone, you might become closer to them than anyone else.
My thoughts do have an unexplainable continuity… one probably not comprehended by any but myself; and that’s alright. I do believe that I can write forever only because I can think on and on and on. I must find a place to stop and rest or make it seem as though I have.