Shh, I know. It’s not going to be okay. Nobody’s coming to save us. Any of us.
There’s no revelations to be handed down from on high. No explanations written in on the label. One life - sold as is. Take it or leave it.
…
There are many kinds of desperation.
There are the people who have fallen down and will claw by inches at what’s in front of them, because they’ve given up on standing. Their desperation is slow an aching, but it’s one that’s chosen. The lesser of many evils; their problems become tangible and easily solved, though endless.
There are the people who are taken by surprise. Who thought they knew and where mistaken. Who turned a corner one day and found themselves somewhere they did not want to be, unsure of how to get out. Their desperation is quick and bites deep, traumatic. But it doesn’t last long. If they survive it, anyway.
And then there’s the other kind.
There are thousands of hungers and appetites which people are prone to. Many are the answers to questions, or escapes from them. Many are intrinsic and ontological, simple consequences of being a thinking meat animal.
Most aren’t chosen, but found. Found and either indulged or refused.
…come bleed the world and drip it down my thro-oat a-gain…
It always boils down to sacrifice, and the price you’re willing to pay.
There’s the kind of desperation which is the cost and the hunger. The kind that twines it’s way through every piece of your life and up every avenue of your psyche. The kind that wracks you and warps you with it’s weight. The kind that constrains every aspect of your life to the question: “can I survive this?”
It’s vicious and cruel. And it’s chosen. It. is. always. chosen.
I deserve this
It’s chosen because it’s the price you pay and because it’s worth it. I’m not talking about some devil’s deal, I’m not talking about signing the contract because you don’t know how bad it’ll get and getting stuck. You can walk away any time, change your mind, full refund.
…
It’s my favorite question: “True love, or perfect happiness?”
A lot of people will quip: “But they’re the same thing!” And if I have a little tact left that day, I won’t laugh in their face.
Once they’re pressed, their answer is the same as almost everyone else’s anyway. Once you explain to them that you can be in love with someone and never have them, find them and lose them and never have anything left of them but love (and what could love be worth then, they’ll ask with their eyes). Once you explain that you can be happy with lots of people, that you can care deeply about someone and they can take care of you and provide for you and make you feel safe without ever touching the terrible thing that is love.
The answer of almost everyone is the same: “Happiness.” I’ve asked everyone I’ve ever had the opportunity to, which basically means a conversation in a casual, social setting that lasts longer than five minutes. I’ve spent my nights during a number of particularly boring family visits repeatedly asking strangers on the internet.
At first I was surprised. I expected most people wanted happiness more than anything, but I didn’t think they’d be so honest about it.
I think there have been about eight people who have said something different. Four where online, random strangers remarkable for being statistical outliers. I kept track of the numbers for a while - they were something like 1% of the people I asked.
One is a friend who’s been with his long-distance girlfriend for something like five years now, who moved across the entire country to be able to give it a real shot, even through all the drama and shit they’ve had to deal with. I love seeing the two of them together. I still remember the look in his eyes when he told us he’d met her, and smile.
Two are another friend and his girlfriend, who said “True Love” and “I don’t know” on the same day. I liked her answer better. I still don’t know whether his answer or their relationship was the lie.
And one was me, but you figured that out already.
…
It’s a simple choice. It isn’t easy, but it’s simple.
Love might not even exist. Love is a strange word that everyone’s got their own ideas about, but “True Love” is special. True love is whatever you want it to be. It’s what you want.
I shouldn’t laugh at them, because for some people True love is exactly happiness. If you’re happy with someone, that’s the love they want.
For other people it’s something else, something exciting or mysterious, some quality that the other person has to have so you know they’re special. There might not be any substance to it, it might just be that the way they meet fits their ideas of romantic stories in the right ways. It might just be that they’re struck by some unique thing they’ve never had in a relationship. It might just be that it’s been the best relationship so far, that they think it’s the best they can do.
For other people it’s something cosmic or spiritual. It’s a connection that isn’t subjective, but an objective truth realized.
…
“Is it worth it?”
I’m good at this game. You know, the one with all the waiting. I’m good at surviving, at finding the things I need to keep going when it would be easier to stop.
It’s a good thing, when it is worth it. When you make it through the fire and are rewarded for you perseverance.
But life isn’t a story book. You can’t win every battle, and sometimes the closest you get to winning is knowing when to stop. Sometimes the longer you keep going, the more you lose, full stop.
“Is it worth it?”
I should have learned how to answer that question. How to know when it was okay to stop, to let go, to turn back.
…
It burns itself into every nook and cranny, it mixes in the blood and finds it’s way to every piece of you. The desperation, the hunger, the price.
I could let it go, and turn around, and fall into her embrace. Or someone else’s - so many someone elses. I could find someone who makes me happy, and just be happy. I could stop being this person, I could let go of all the things I had to adopt because I chose this.
Except I don’t even want to.
Even if I never find it. Even if I knew, here and now, I’d never have it.
Because it’s tragic, romantic, dramatic. Because sometimes it doesn’t matter if a story’s true or not, because you feel it. Because the feeling’s real, and nothing else matters.
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