If you ask how I am then I’ll just say inspired
–B.Taupin/Better Off DeadThere’s a stain on my notebook
Where your coffee cup was
And there’s ash in the pages
Now I’ve got myself lost.
–Squeeze/Black Coffee In Bed
Often I have a hard time relating to people. I’ve probably mentioned it before. I am not really a people person in general. I’m not good at people, but lately I’ve been trying to not let people freak me out so much. Not to change my basic character, but because I realize more and more that having people around you, good people, makes life better. So even though solitude is my comfort zone, I have been making an effort to reach out to people instead of just drifting away like I usually do.
My biggest difficulty is with people who are like ghosts.
They’re the ones who aren’t willing to share even the most basic parts of themselves. Sharing thoughts, dreams, feelings is difficult, and a lot of us struggle with it, so I understand to a certain extent. It’s hard for me, so I write it instead of talking. It’s hard to be vulnerable, and sharing what you feel means trusting people. Forget about thoughts and dreams–people who are ghosts won’t even share who they had drinks with last night or what they had for lunch. Everything is on a need to know basis, and there’s nobody who needs to know.
If you are indifferent about them, it’s not that hard to deal with because you have no emotional investment. You can shrug it off. You don’t care what their feelings are anyway. If you think they’re indifferent about you, it’s also not that hard.
If you care for them, and suspect that they care for you but can’t or won’t show it, it’s more complicated. Maybe for them too, not that you would ever know that for sure. That’s the problem. Even more than with other people, you don’t ever know anything. Not for sure. It’s all sort of speculative.
Ghosts, living ghosts, are almost impossible for me to deal with because of that–nothing is ever out in the open with them. It leaves too much room for my admittedly over-active imagination to spin. There is too much to wonder about. There isn’t anything to hold on to, as much as I might want to.
They’re emotional vapor.
How much effort do you put into to something that may or may not even be real in the first place? How do you know?