A Note on Honesty, and a Commemoration to Our Chemical Comradeship

For the last month or so, I've been going through a mini revolution. A disillusionment, if you will.

In this blog post, I'd like to address the repercussions of running away from the inevitable complexities you face in life, and the peril of forgoing intricate reflection. This is one of my natural tendencies; I'm a master procrastinator, and I avoid clearing my inquiries (especially in math class, dear god). However, recently I've come to realise how blinded this makes you . . .

In this month, I've been separated from an aspect of my life that heavily weighed me down. I felt no such obligations, nor prolonged exposure to toxicity. There was actually an absence of what I imagined my issues to be - which seemed odd - until I realised that I didn't own them, thus I didn't need to 'deal with' them. As I write this, I am slowly growing to be aware of how vague and diplomatic I'm trying to be about this, and how it's a stark contrast to the title of this darned post. In full tbh-honesty, I was entangled in an emotionally taxing comradeship. Having the notion that this was the meaning of mutual trust and support, I willingly took on a significant amount of strain. This was incredibly instinctive for me, as I am innately empathetic, so much so (in fact) that I literally perceive the circumstances of others as my own. For two years, I silently felt joy in 'being there' for a substantial string of incidents, and I was under the impression that this is what comradeship meant. In objective reality, however, this was not true.

Similar to how cells burst due to osmosis (forgive my IB-ridden thought process), there was an event in which I found my breaking point (it was much like how they describe finding a G-spot; a magnificent revelation). I additionally realised that there are times wherein you can't make sense of your own behaviour (and it may even seem like an overreaction to yourself), but it is valid and it will always be valid. Probably, you'd deem yourself a twat for thinking/feeling these anxieties and seek approval from your friends; twisting stories to make yourself seem like the victim; or invoking sympathy/empathy by injecting emotion to your narration.

The point here is that it doesn't matter how much you try to make yourself seem sane for feeling feelings, for you do not lose the right to feel your feelings, you feel? Nobody's encounters, testimonies, or opinions bear any substance in validating your needs and feelings. I should let ya'll know that when I say 'you,' I'm actually trying to teach myself and you these lessons (mostly myself).

With this post, though, I'm eulogising our comradeship and reclaiming my anxieties as marks of experience and understanding. It was an enthralling journey, but just as roller coasters do, rides must end, and often with a nostalgic satisfaction.