Soaring

Chapter 7

After dinner was finished, I excused myself as silently as I possibly could. Then I found my way over to the sink. Which was filled with dishwater. Quickly my dish became washed.

Then I found my way to the shower. So that nobody could say I was being antisocial. Placing a towel on the toilet seat. Then another for my hair. My clothes going on the chest across from the shower. So that they didn't get wet.

Before getting undressed, I put my shower water on. Perfecting the temperature before getting my clothes off. Refusing to shower if the pipes are running coldly. Once I perfected the shower water, I stripped my clothes and put on the perfect shower medley. My phone playing it, and in the water, it sounds like a romantic bass melody playing quietly.

My loneliness is also taking a huge toll on me lately. Wishing I had someone who understands me like I understand my favorite songs. Someone who surprises me with the little things.

Memorizes my work schedule, so they can surprise me at work. Someone who cares about me so much, that the little things I care about matter to them. Simply because those little things matter to me. Someone who even knows my favorite songs would mean so much to me.

Of course, I'm overly aware of the fact that those romantic idealizations are something I will never have. Nor achieve. I've just come to the conclusion that I have so many underwhelming qualities, that it's not possible to view myself worthy of a forever love story. Nor friendships strong enough that I can always be or feel comfortable.

Once my shower was done, I jump out of the tub. My shower is an old claw foot tub, that had been converted into a shower. Once I was dried off I dressed myself. Typically my after-shower outfit choice is a onesie.

After my shower, I make my way to my bedroom. Cuddling with my pillow, a kaleidoscope of memories flashed in my brain. Reminding me of every mistake I have ever made. Every embarrassing thing I have ever done.

Especially at night, my brain always has a strange way of attacking me. Lighting me on fire with my own lightning strike. Of course, my brain is within my own control, so I must subconsciously want my brain to think of these moments I'd like to forget.

It's probably my brain begging for attention. Since that isn't something I get much of. Maybe that's why I'm so annoying. Maybe that's why I crave such positive connections with people. Because I don't see much attention from people besides when they want something.

That makes sense. Nobody ever shows interest in me or my projects. So when people finally do, it sends a tidal shock wave through me. Since someone is listening, someone is connecting with me and my interests for once.

Having positive attention in my interests is not something I get often. When I share my interests with my mother or father, they pretend to be interested. Since I'm the polar opposite of both of my parents. I'm creative.

Anything I enjoy is considered fairytale far fetches to my parents. My interests were always boring and unusual to them. Not interesting. Not intriguing to them.

It's so hard for me to pursue my interests knowing that they only matter to me. If I were to try and show them my interests they wouldn't be interested. If they seemed interested, it would all just be them pretending.

Once I'm settled into my bed, cuddling my pillow... Transfixed on my negative thoughts and memories... I eventually get sick of thinking. Get sick of thinking about my mistakes and my fuck ups. Just sick of my own brain.

Redirecting my thoughts, I look down at my pillow. Trying my hardest, and in the best ways I know to allow my body to drift into slumber. Though as per usual my body is fighting me in every way it knows possible.