January is Breathing.
While I originally wanted to write about my first week in New York since moving away in November, and how it evoked memories of Joan Didion’s ‘Goodbye to All That’, I decided that there was much more for me to expand upon other than discomfort and foggy references to my past. Instead, I’ve peeled away the days’ layers, peeked into the conversations between now and then, and have felt things so unfamiliar, that all I could do was stare at the back of my eyelids.
There’s something existential happening within me, and I may have stumbled across new territory. A new set of pleasures, removal from previous treasures, and something just above me. Something enticing—
And just beyond my periphery.
This is the first January in years that has—mostly—been a mellowed experience. It could be the SSRI. It could be the aforementioned trip to New York City.
…
It’s not that. It’s definitely not that, but those 7 days contributed to a much larger scheme. I laughed the same amount as I do at home, but in a different way. I think I looked better, not because others looked at me more, but because I genuinely found myself beautiful internally. My friend flirted with me in a way that is not the same as when you want to be inside someone, but in a way that exudes a love that isn’t found in most spaces. I’m new to him.
“It’s good to see you, and it’s good to smell you.”
He said something about feeling me too, I think— and I got flustered. I love his tenderness , and I always think about how he himself is an experience. Something greater. And then there’re the girls whom I consider siblings. The ones that I cook for and talk about life with, wait at the station for and have sleepovers with. Then there’s the family that doesn’t call, doesn’t seem to remember, and doesn't even know me well enough to get the right sized pajamas for Christmas.
Familiarity means something though, no? It’s what makes you want to buy someone something they may like, it’s maybe the reason you tolerate certain things with one person but not the other, and a variety of other nuanced phenomena. Days ago, I stated that familiarity is love, and one person agreed that it could be liberating— since familiarity seems to be linked to comfort. Another person, simply was intrigued by my thought process behind considering it love.
I guess logically it is love, but that goes against everything love stands for.
Understand that when I said that, I was in a good headspace. As of now, my mind has changed, and I don’t believe familiarity is just love. It is the walls closing in. It’s your tongue being cut out. It is jumping for your balloon that’s stuck in a tree, just a bit too tall for you to reach.
Since I am begrudgingly existing in the same space that once felt like home, I can now say that both sides of the spectrum are true. Familiarity—comfort— can be my liberation. Maybe it opened the door for me to exist peacefully, with a stipulation that I wasn't fully aware of. None of us can predict when the comfort zone will begin to resent us, which leads me to the next end. Familiarity—once again, comfort— can be a piece of Hell. And it has been.
New York was home to my comfort zones, but once I landed, I was riddled with cramps, nightmares, and tremors from anxiety. I immediately knew I was not able to make it a home again. I knew our time was up and there was no possibility of me making what once was, into what I wanted. Just 2 weeks after—the present— I admitted to myself that I do not belong in close quarters with my family. I had to admit that time after time, my discomfort grew. My resentment grew. Each holiday we didn’t spend together, every Christmas I was left in New York City, every occasion I was separated from—not considered for— was not like a family I wanted to be a part of, nor can be proud of.
I compared now to then, and thought that the past would save me from feeling whatever this is, but familiarity has kept me here. Familiarity has conceived a grief seed, and I’m facing the consequences of having not been strong enough to put myself first.
I’m facing the loss of my treasures, and opening up new doors of pleasure.
Within this pain is, well, nothing too optimistic. It will hurt for quite some time, but on the other side of this, is a piece of me that I may have never been able to see. Without the constant fear of never being truly heard, I can speak proudly and freely. Heard by maybe even just a handful of beings; picked precisely. Without the yearning for inclusion, I can put my insides outside, and bring my inner world to life and just live.
Alongside those who kiss letters with lavender and fill my life with rosy laughter, are the ones who see through and understand me. Familiarity comes and goes and doesn’t really have a home. It can be found anywhere. It is born to accompany.
In a way, just like me. I belong to many, and I hope this tells you that comfort can make or break you.
I hope you choose wisely.
This is so beautiful and I’m so, so proud of you. x
So good. Need to sit with this some more because yeaahhhh…. You hit a spot