it's been years

I spent the evening looking through old blog entries, from back when Alex was still around. Back then I'd always talk about how she'd always call me out on my bullshit, like it was a good thing, like it kept me honest or some shit. Like it was a good thing that every single thing I did was because I was afraid it would make her angry, and how ultimately that just led to me not doing very much at all. Sitting around the house, writing blog posts. So much for the spirit of adventure. When it started getting bad I'd write about all the ways I was "needling" her, trying to make her angry by doing the things that I knew made her angry. Like it was my fault, somehow.

She's gone now. We all know how that went. But it's been years and somehow I realized I'm still tiptoeing through tulips, same as ever, like if I make too much noise or remind anyone I still exist she might show up again, rolling her eyes and sighing theatrically at me. Most of the time I was too small, too insignificant, to yell at.

All those years took the fight out of me, and "fight" is all I am. When I was finally free from her, when I finally understood what had happened, I still didn't understand how deep it went. How I could still be so lethargic after so much time--not just the lethargy of depression, that old friend of mine, but a different lethargy. That little voice telling me it's absurd to do any of the things I love, that it's too indulgent, too pretentious, too unoriginal. Of course I've managed to ignore the voice sometimes, but I didn't really realize it was there.

I hear you now, motherfucker.