I keep accidentally staring people down.
Earlier, when I was feeling sardonic, I posted a rant in short fragments in the catbox. I was complaining about being in Burlington, about Vermont, about spending a birthday with only one person who knows who I am and surrounded by a strange town and stranger people. I decided I wasn't doing that whole self pity thing and stopped talking.
I'm still not doing that whole self pity thing. I'm just working through the fact that my head's feeling like a cement mixer stopped on the highway, everything I've been carrying with me slowly solidifying, slowly going to waste. I'm just working through the fact that I am six foot three and strongly built, yet people keep running into me while I'm walking, pressed up against buildings, down new sidewalks. I'm just working through the fact that, for someone who is not a fan of his home and for someone who, as a 15 year old, was already spending multiple months in one stretch living away from his family, I'm homesick for the first time.
I'm working through the fact that although it's only been three hours since I've spoken to anyone, it feels like three days.
I've spent the last two and a half hours sitting in a library, writing and reading e2. My sister - the only person I know living in Vermont - is currently having an orientation at the hospital she's volunteering at. She has to get blood drawn in two days, see if she has TB. That's about the only solid information I've gotten from this trip.
I was thinking about the whole alone-on-a-birthday thing while walking through the town earlier. The snow had started coming down for real, and I was walking up Pearl Street with no idea where I was. I decided I didn't really care about it. At home, all that I'd do for a birthday would be see the same family I had seen every other day, get congratulated for managing to not die for another year, and then go on with my life. I didn't think I was missing anything.
I still don't think I mind being away from home. I think I just don't like change. I've never not been home for a birthday before, never not lurched into a dark kitchen at nine in the morning. Change is the devil you don't know, the rapid choices that make up a life. Change is stressful. This was change.
Recently, two of my friends started texting me for advice. I don't know when I became the advice guru. I don't know shit, I just have pretty lies. One friend was asking about what she should do with someone who didn't care about her as much as she cared about them. The other asked about how to deal with a friend who was causing too many problems in her life.
I had a hard time not copying and pasting my advice from one to the other. I told both of them that the first step had to be to tell the other person. That they had to be the change. That their options were either to try changing everything and play it as best as they could, or keep living a life that just wasn't doing it for them.
I also told both of them about how I am shit at taking my own advice. For the past five years, I have been in the closet about being gay.
I understand I have to be the change. I understand that my options are to try changing my situation or keep living a life that honestly just isn't fucking doing it for me anymore.
But change fucking sucks.
Humans inherently fear change. So far what they've done hasn't killed them, so why not keep doing that?
I know that I need to make a change. But for now, it looks like all I'm going to be doing is getting too deep into my own problems while lost on cold walks in a strange state.
I was also thinking about just what that change would do to me. Would being more honest mean that I would suddenly become a different person? Did the fact that I was walking alone make me suddenly hold myself so much more flamboyantly?
I didn't think so.
Then people started bumping into me.
I don't hold myself like a dude. I walk with legs close together, bend and hunch myself. If I wasn't 6'3" and fucking huge, I don't think I would have survived high school. And yet once I started being a little more honest with myself, I started getting hit.
So there's that.
On the other hand, I am still 6'3". Just because people don't act like it, just because I don't feel like it, doesn't change that fact. And that gives me hope.
After all, when people run into me, they fucking bounce.