Desire and Despair

Chapter 3

Nathan had been in jail for a few weeks, and it had already lost all its novelty. But maybe that was the scariest thing of all, the idea that this could become his new normal, that he'd get used to living like this, that someday the days he'd truly been happy would be an outlier, just a fluke breaking up years of misery. Maybe the worst thing wasn't struggling with his new life, rebelling against it, and hating it with a passion, because at least that would mean he had a higher standard for himself, and some kind of hope that life could be better, that it should be, that he deserved that much. Maybe the saddest thing was his empty kind of resignation because people would call him strong for it, but he was weak, too weak to raise a hand and fight, too weak to open his mouth in protest. So he hid, like the coward he was, behind his frozen smile and accepting words. To him it was just life, simply how the world worked, painful but inevitable. But to the people who spoke out against it, the people who fought to be free, life was beautiful, and happiness was worth fighting for, even if they were the ones who had heads shaken at them, the ones who could never seem to "adjust". It already felt surreal that he'd ever lived such simple, happy days in his past, they felt like a fever dream now, a delusion made up to cope with the stark white walls, the endless tapping of pacing boots, the bars that seemed to stretch on forever, all the blank spaces that had to be filled in with something. Maybe the worst thing wasn't that another tragedy might happen in his practically cursed life, it was that it might not, that he might appreciate that without realizing the tragedy had never really ended just because it hadn't changed, that he was still trapped in a nightmare, it had just somehow become his default. Still, maybe he was better off without their insatiable hope. That was what made people crazy wasn't it, the unreachable light at the end of the tunnel? Maybe he was safer without it, with no beautiful illusions to taunt him. Of course, it wasn't exactly nice being acutely aware of how unhappy he was either. He lived in a paradox, wishing for distractions in his moments of peace, and wishing them away again when their stress only added to his hurt. There was nothing he could do about his situation, the only thing he could do was try to forget and move on, but it was so much easier said than done. Part of him still didn't want to move on, because he was deeply loyal, even if it was only to a half-forgotten memory. He was more interested in what had been than what could be, more interested in commemorating the past than building a future. He wanted to be happy in jail, but he couldn't imagine himself loving it more than the perfect days that came before it. Still, it would be nice to be happy again, at whatever cost. He wasn't sure he remembered how, what it had felt like exactly, only that it had transformed ordinary things into things worth missing. He still smiled or laughed genuinely sometimes, but when the amusement died away he was right back where he started. He tried to find happiness in all the things that had used to make him happy sometimes, and they always worked up to a point, only they'd made him much happier when they hadn't had to compete with overwhelming waves of sadness trying to drown them out. The funny thing was that deep down, fundamentally, his life hadn't changed too much. He still did the same basic things, got up every morning, drank his coffee, and watched TV. All normal things, only he wasn't happy doing them anymore, and it was deeply ironic to be at breakfast, for example, thinking of how happy he could've been in the moment if he'd been at another breakfast table. Because it hadn't changed all that much, but it was no longer transformed by the illuminating, golden glow of some kind of joy deep down. Happiness was such a strange thing to chase, sometimes he wished he were desperately poor. It seemed so much easier to have needs instead of wants, to focus on staying alive, not confusing, ever-changing emotions. He was sure it would be difficult to get food without any money, but it had to be easier to go after something tangible like bread, than a fleeting glimpse of happiness, that was forever evading him. But strangely he knew the secret to happiness, knew how to make his life a fairytale. So many people wanted to know the secret to happiness, wasted their lives trying to figure out how to live them, never really getting anywhere, publishing complicated papers and giving long lectures, debating the question into oblivion, going on stupid journeys of soul-searching that only ever led them in circles, no closer to happiness than when they'd started. Meanwhile, he knew exactly what to do, but ironically he'd never be allowed to do it, and that haunted him. The people with their whole lives ahead of them ran around in circles wondering how to spend them, while people like him who knew every step were barred from taking a single one. Tragic, really. Wasted potential all around. Everyone trying to "find themselves" while he knew exactly who he was, but wasn't allowed to be him. He knew just what he wanted, and still, he couldn't have it. He hated when other people acknowledged the tragedy of it all though. For some reason almost nothing broke him like sympathy, he was good at tuning out his problems, but when someone else brought them up and made them seem terrible, he couldn't help agreeing deep down. His problems were so well blurred in his own mind sometimes they felt normal until someone else had to point them out and he remember this wasn't normal, he didn't deserve this, he deserved a future, not just a past. Katie had bought him a sweater one Christmas that was absolutely hideous, red and green striped, that of course she'd think was adorable. He'd planned to leave it at the bottom of a dusty box forever, but now it didn't matter that it was ugly, it felt like home. He wore it as many days as he could get away with, to show everyone else where his true loyalties lay, as if they cared. He'd lived long enough to realize that it didn't matter how good a song on the radio was, or how nice a sweater was, what mattered was the value he attached to them, the experiences they represented. He was an idiot, he knew now, for ever wishing for more exciting things, for ever getting bored of his commonplace life and wishing something, anything, would happen. Because now his life certainly wasn't boring, but he'd give anything to go back to the simple, pure days when it had been. He missed the days when half the lyrics of a sad song went over his head, because who could possibly care that much? Turned out caring that much was all too easy, and nothing really fixed it. It didn't matter if someone told him they cared, or they were there for him, the thought was nice, but it didn't really change anything. His life stayed the same whether or not Aunt Cindy was "thinking of him during these difficult times" on Facebook. He wondered sometimes if he'd look back on these days and smile, maybe even laugh if he managed to hold onto his sense of humor. Maybe someday he'd be so happy he could laugh off all his past struggles. After all, forever ago he'd cried over one insignificant failed quiz, and now with the perspective of everything he was dealing with, after experiencing true heartbreak, his dramatic journal entries were hilarious, even though he'd felt them so deeply and sincerely at the time. Maybe he was still in the character development phase of the TV show that was his life, and in the next season, everything would magically work out and wrap up. Maybe when he reached his happily ever after he'd know it was worth it. Maybe one day all this sadness would make him appreciate someday's happiness more acutely. Maybe someday he'd have enough perspective to smile at all his struggles, but today was certainly not that day, nothing seemed funny now about his puffy eyes and aching chest. Because these days he had plenty to live for, but he didn't have anything to live toward, nothing to count down the days to or get up in the morning for, nothing to remember for a smile when he was down. He had nothing to lose, which wasn't really empowering, it just meant he had nothing worth holding on to. He'd never hold onto a shirt from this time in his life, just because of the flood of memories it brought back. He was already trying to forget this time as he lived it, which was just as confusing as it sounded. He was both happy and sad when the days passed, glad because it was one less day he had to get through here, and miserable because it was one more day of his life wasted. He envied everyone who looked remotely happy now, forgetting their smile could be just as fake as his, forgetting they could be struggling too. It felt like only he was struggling while a world of cheerful, well-adjusted people ran circles around him, round and round and round. They all knew where they were going, where they belonged, and all spun to their proper places, while he stood dizzy in the corner, practically invisible. Back when he'd had it all he'd laughed at how deeply devoted Katie was to him, but now that she was gone he realized he hadn't appreciated her half enough. However ridiculous she sounded sometimes, it had been nice to mean something. In his defense though, he was always the one starting over. Just when he felt like he'd made it when he'd finally gotten comfortable, after months of effort, all of a sudden his perfectly planned out life spun out of control, erasing all his hard work, and leaving him alone in some lonely new world. He felt like he was eternally behind. The rest of the world had gotten a head start while he'd sat alone in a dark room too haunted by what he knew to ever learn anything else, on the sidelines of life, scheming against his best friend on the outskirts of reality, all alone with his secrets. Even when he'd forced his way into normal life with brute force after Cuba, putting up a picket fence and showing up at neighborhood parties, dropping kids off at preschool and playing in Andrew's golf games, working a 9-5 job, he always felt like an impostor, even when the show he put on was good enough to be believable. He was a natural at golf. But not at relating to the player beside him, not at fitting in. He didn't really feel he'd ever belong anywhere. He'd tried living in Teddy's world, but it had moved too fast and asked too much of him and left him burned in the end. He'd tried to exist in his own world, but he'd gotten sick of being all alone. He'd tried to be normal, to live in Andrew's world, but he'd still jumped at loud noises and had nightmares of holding a gun to an innocent man's head and when he spoke his words were edged with bitterness. He could never make up the years he'd lost, never have anything interesting to say about his twenties. He'd been getting used to it though, day by day, before he ended up here, lost all over again. Maybe if he'd had another five years of trying he would've finally fit in. It wasn't his fault he was always behind. He never had enough time to catch up.