The post you’re about to read are the ones I’m most looking forward to sharing. Just writing (typing) that is monumental for me. There was a time I would never have thought about going public with any of this. These posts are old journal entries from a notebook I have been writing my thoughts and musings in for the last five and a half years. These posts will be unedited and reprinted in their entirety (I removed last names of peeps for privacy). My hope is to give you a glimpse into how this completely haphazard yet still ostensibly functional organ inside my skull once was, and what I’ve learned (albeit with that same fucked up brain) from that tumultuous past. It’s not a big notebook, however, which is unfortunate it’s taken me this long to complete it. For the sake of avoiding making this post an impressive wall of text, I’ve included pictures. Yes. Pictures of a plain black notebook. Just read on.
I was given my notebook, along with some other goodies, after completing the Twin Cities Marathon in 2012. Something about the ‘middle of the pack’ award where they gave me a duffel bag that had that notebook, a (signed!) copy of Ultramarathon Man by the legendary Dean Karnazes, a $25 gift card, and a bunch of snacks and Clif bars. Needless to say I was elated. Ask anyone who knows me how much I love free stuff (or stuff that I make free…it’s really all about perspective. I’m not a thief). Anyway – that gift card and those snacks were gone quickly. The book was less easy to devour – and honestly I didn’t believe this guy. People don’t run 100’s of miles at a time. That’s impossible! Well, just a few years later and I’m one of those so-called ultramarathoners. You can read about that cold adventure here. Someday I’ll make it out to a race like Leadville or Western States. So many inspiring athletes out there suffering though unimaginable conditions. Anyway! That’s another post altogether.
Let’s get to it. This entry comes a few days after Christmas four years ago. Two of the most spectacular women alive that I’m fortunate enough to call my friends came to visit me during the coldest winter I can remember. We went to Phantom of the Opera, and as you’ll see, I had some pretty intense feelings that surfaced as a result of having had the opportunity to spend time with, and shortly after say goodbye to, my best friends. Read on. If you’re feeling good, stick around while I go full-throttle Freud on myself.
It is unblevelable how sad I get having to say goodbye to friends when they leave. I believe it is something I have felt my entire life but I haven’t actually realized it to this extent. Last night, Hallie, Mollie, Hallie’s younger sister and I went to Phantom of the Opera. Poor Hallie’s dog got sick yesterday though and she got a call saying that the dog would probably not survive. Poor kid. Anyway, it was fun, and I shouldn’t have anything to be upset over. But right after they left I was literally almost in tears. It’s like I am always holding out for some moment of catharsis, where we just sit and reminisce and talk for hours like I used to do with those who I have been close with. I miss having a best friend. I feel as though I haven’t had a meaningful conversation with someone for 3 fucking years. I haven’t made a new friend since I was in high school and have only lost them since. That used to not bother me. In fact I was almost “proud” of it, in a way. Now I feel so bored and isolated I barely want to hang out with Abe or Eric, or even Rebekah. And why would they enjoy being around me? My interests have largely faded – there are not a lot of things I really enjoy doing. What areas of interests do I share with other people? Nobody really wants to get up and run with me. Nobody wants to talk about Italian shit with me, or video games, or Chipotle. How many other people my age envision a good time as sitting around and shooting the shit, or going to a show? Everybody wants to party. I DON’T. It’s not fucking fun for me. I take no pleasure in meeting new people. I know who I like already, and I love those people to death. Talking to other people isn’t the same and I just want my old friends back. It’s funny – I remember before leaving for college all I wanted was to get out and make new friends. Then I realized how uninterested I was in other people. Given the choice between meeting new people or being by myself, I pick the latter every time. And nothing excites me more than just being around people I love – and just talking. It’s why I was always would be on the phone with Hallie until she would literally hang up on me. And why I have sat at Rebekah’s house until 6 or 7am, until I could hardly stand I was so tired. And why I would spent almost every free hour of my life senior year with Zoe B. It’s even why I would spend so much time hanging out with people like Kevin in Junior High or Brandon or Abe in high school (albeit to a much lesser extent). I loved (and still do) just hanging around. But I’m smart enough to know it’s not normal and its certainly not what other people want from me. Nobody wants to be my friend that much, or in that way. Most people (everybody but me) enjoys the company of many. I am the only person I know who is by far the happiest when I can be with on other person. For some reason it generally works better with women. I would give just about anything to be as good of friends with Hallie, or Zoe, or Hailey as I used to be. I can’t lie when I say they were the most memorable times of my life. And I feel as though I will never have these kinds of friendships again in my life. And it has nothing to do with physical intimacy. In fact I would do just about anything to throw all of those where things got physical – from the sex right down to every kiss. It only ruined all of these friendships. It turned all of those relationships to shit. I feel like so much has happened in two years and I have absolutely no one to trust with it anymore. My mom has a heart attack – and the only person I tell is Zoe well after we stopped dating. My mom threatens suicide and sends me a “good-bye” message – the only person I got to tell that is myself, twice in this fucking notebook. But what can I do? I don’t know how to make friends. I’d rather just have my old ones back.
Okay. You still there? Awesome! You made it. PHEW. There was a lot of shit in there. That was even difficult for me to transcribe. And I wrote it! So what do we take from this? What insight can you or I glean from this rather old stream of immature consciousness? Firstly, I promise I’m not that despondent anymore. Like holy shit 21 year-old Duff, have you ever heard of Xanax? Second, there is a lot that needs to be said about isolation. Third, (just know you are reading this almost as directly as it’s coming from my mind) there is even more to be said about limitations.
Let’s talk about isolation. Something I’ve grown to learn that I feel is truer every time I’m reminded of it is that, (purposefully) barring any 3rd party intervention, I can convince myself of any negative emotion running through my mind. I’ve obviously learned a lot about the power of being an observer of thoughts though meditation, but when it comes to those nasty self-deprecating habituated thought patterns, reflecting on them with trusted friends is crucial. It’s easy to see how isolation led me to believe that ‘only I feel this way,’ and ‘everybody else is like this,’ and all the other snippets you can pluck from the passage. As paradoxical as it seems, one of the things that keeps me grounded and confident (relatively) is knowing that I’m really not special. I’m not the only person in the world who misses their old friends. I’m not the only person who finds it hard to make friends. And I’m definitely not the only person in the world who likes to run in the morning (read about it here and here). Nor am I the only person who likes video games, Chipotle, medicine, food, sports, and all the other things other normal people like. But it wouldn’t be too difficult for me to believe I was if I did exactly what I did – shut myself in, be too stubborn and scared to make friends, and not have the gumption to connect with old ones more often. Just reading this makes me wanna go back in time and slap the living hell out of me and say “YOU’RE NOT THAT COOL CALL A FRIEND, DUMBASS!” Because, in reality, it’s not cool, or tough, or a measure of fortitude to feel you’re unique in how lonely you are. There was no reason I had to be – or feel that I was. Which brings us to the last point.
There are things I am limited from doing. I will never dunk a basketball. I have no desire and even less ability. I will also never understand why people watch NASCAR, or why at concerts the instruments are so loud you can’t actually understand the words people are singing. What I am not limited from doing is changing my mindset. Reading this post, I was never actually prevented from being closer to any of the aforementioned folks. I was never actually inhibited from forging new friendships or figuring out a way to enjoy life in my current circumstance. Those were entirely constructs that I had created. I was not being held hostage in my apartment every weekend. I wasn’t limited to access for help from friends, and family. I convinced myself that those were denied to me. I was so unable to recognize that being sad was completely normal, and there were very normal, human remedies for it. Please, if you’re reading this, know that I haven’t had a stream of thoughts this negative in months. Maybe for the better part of a year. Recovery, real, true recovery, is a beautiful thing (read about it here). Any affliction of thought is curable by real action, and I can take any instance in the above passage and can say with some certainty in how I would go about resolving the conflict exemplified. Most would involve calling a friend, watching a move, or just being present and aware of those thoughts and letting them go.
Now you might be asking, ‘Ryan, what was that about your mom, and your old high school friends, and women, and –’ don’t worry. There is a lot left in this notebook that we’ll get to. And believe me, I’m learning as much about me as you are. Alas, I only have so much learning I can cram at a time. Graduate school has excavated that well of knowledge capacity greatly, but for this entry, it’s tapped out. Thank you for joining me on this first un-buried post! I’m having fun – hopefully you are too!