I say that there’s enough going on in my life that I feel obliged to ‘take seriously’ that, when out on the town on a Friday night, the clothes I wear or even the things I do in those moments do not warrant even remotely the same degree of concern, which was already barely subsistent for the life I lead. If I’m going to go out, anywhere, it’s my glasses that pretty much delineate the only self-consciousness I have while in the public eye, and as long as I’m wearing my contacts, I could give fuck all what anyone thinks of what I’m wearing or doing or saying, because I’m already about 98% confident that it’s going to be exactly what I intend to be doing, and if that doesn’t sit well with you, it’s your problem and not mine. There certainly is a difference between dressing up to be somewhere and just sort of ending up there in whatever clothes you happened to be wearing all day, but the fact stands, as far as I’m concerned, that unless you’re out to a gala at the fucking Ritz, nobody at a bar that offers bocce ball courts out in Oakland gives a shit what you’re wearing or knows anything about you as a person, and if you’ve been dressed that way all day, that’s more realistic of you than anything you could ‘put on’. I guess I’m led to believe that if I were trying to put anything on for someone that I would want them to see me for what I am, rather than what they want to see – whether or not I’m always honest or capable of that is a different story, but I’d like to think that I give people what they’re bound to get. What use do either of us have in my giving them anything else? And it stops there, like, if you’re not dressing up for yourself, what more do you feel the need to prove to anyone else than that you are exactly who you are? It’s not a big fucking deal, it’s just you existing out to get a drink like everyone else, and it means as much to them as it does to you, I swear it. I’m just trying to live my own best life over here for my own sake, and I guess there’s a serious disconnect between that and where what I look like or what I’m wearing even remotely comes into it.
I know I’m missing the point. I know it’s how you feel, regardless of what you’re wearing or what anybody actually thinks. I know it’s mental, just like the last 5 miles of the marathon. But… treat it like a marathon then; that’s where I’m unable to fully sympathize. If it’s a mental matter, and, like a marathon, it comes down to deciding how you’re going to approach and feel about a particular thing in order to get yourself through it: if you decide that you will stay stable through these last miles, that you’ve made it this far, and that you’ve done it all before, and that this is nothing new, then why can’t the same be done for something like the clothes you’re wearing on a Friday night out, or the food available at the really cool bar you happen to be at downtown? If it’s your brain telling you things are one way, and you know it, then why can’t you actively decide to tell your brain that they are, in fact, some other way? What makes that mental game different from any other? I want to understand. I want to empathize and accommodate and make this work between the two of us. However if there’s going to be this idea that I’m doing something wrong by being accommodating and by trying to take charge of things so that you don’t have to, and I’m going to be the bad guy in either case, based entirely on how you feel in a given situation, that’s going to be difficult for me to maneuver, not because I don’t want to maneuver it, but because it’s a maze with no clear goddamn path. That’s hard, okay? I want to parse out the best ways to ensure that things work out for you, and I’m liable to spend my life doing that, but I’m under the impression that even that doesn’t matter many times, that it’s the fact that a problem which someone needs to address exists, above even what the issue actually is. Try as I might to appease or accommodate or adjust myself to what may or may not be, nothing I do matters more than the fact that you don’t feel right about yourself, and while I cannot do anything about it, ultimately, I’m also at fault for not doing anything about it, or for not getting it.
I don’t know where the fuck you’ve run off to now, and I do care but I feel I ought not to, because you made it pretty clear that you’d’ve rather been alone on the way home tonight, shy of not ever having come out with me at all. All you wanted to do was go home, and once we got here you left again. I don’t know whether it’s me or not, but I like to think that I’ve made it abundantly clear that I want to do whatever is necessary to come to a compromise between the lives we’re each trying to lead. Perhaps I really haven’t made it clear, and have only repeated it to myself. I might be ‘out of pocket’ but I’m not an idiot, and I understand when things are going as they’ve been surmised to be going, and that is most certainly the case here. At a certain point, I suppose, this whole thing is my fault, for you wouldn’t have even been out here if it weren’t for me, would never have had to go through all the trouble and stress of getting yourself situated out here, and wouldn’t have felt as though you banked so heavily upon me in the process. I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m doing the same goddamn thing as you out here, I’m just trying not to take the shit so goddamn seriously, because it doesn’t make it any more serious or critical, it just stresses us out more and costs us sleep, and does no one any good. It’s not rocket science. Look at what you’re doing and what you want to change, and make those changes and see what happens, and improve yourself from there, based on what feels good to you, what feels optimal. I swear to god it doesn’t matter whether your disorder has a name or not, we’re all doing the same fucking thing, and the only one who can do anything about it is you.