What I Hate

I hate the fact that I care if nobody reads what I write. I hate the fact that I count the number of replies to an event, and that when the rejections outweigh the number of those attending my heart drops. I hate the fact that I can remember exactly what it feels like to be without close companions, and that those fears are what motivate me most to seek others. I hate the fact that regardless of what I do, I cannot manufacture for myself the embrace of friendship, or the feeling that I have the attention of those who I hold dear. Every moment I feel unheard this hatred grows, every moment I'm interrupted or ignored, silenced or neglected, overlooked or simply discarded it feels as though I'm digging deeper into a hole of solitude.

Worse still, I hate the fact that the relationships with the people I care most about are sometimes built and standing on shifting sands of obligations, small talk, and frivolous jestings. I hate the fact that I am unable to sustain with sincerity true conversations of belief, conviction, passion, and care. I love without loving, protected from vulnerability by a relational distance that rarely moves beyond the realm of acquaintance. I pray for an understanding of how one is able to become a person of importance. No, maybe that's not the right phrasing. Not a person who has importance, but a person who extracts important information. One who moves beyond the surface to interact on a level that surpasses the guarded chatter of lifelong friends who know nothing about the areas of hurt, need, love and joy their loved ones feel into the realm of true friendship.

Is there some sort of contract entered into? Does it take a spontaneous late-night conversation to spark this interaction? Can it be duplicated, recreated, manufactured or pre-planned? Can I become a man who seeks truth, seeing through the sheltering disguises of hesitant broken people into the hearts of those with whom I interact? I desire nothing greater than an understanding of how we work, how I can overcome both the barriers I set in place, and those put in place by others. I don't know how one begins a man-to-man without suggesting or implying an awkward bromance, I don't know how to look into the eyes of the people I've known longest to ask the questions I've always wondered about, and I don't know how to share without forever alienating the ones I'd do anything to keep close.

So, out of ignorance, not desire, I perpetuate the status quo, divert attention with trickery, showmanship, wit, and humour while secretly wondering about the unspoken bits. My mind slows down as I ignore the voice of sincere curiosity and begin to exist on an energy-saving mode, toned down from the pursuit of understanding and strong relationships into this self-constructed role of a man without depth who sacrifices opportunity for security.

With cowardice do I retreat, expressing my true thoughts behind a veil of anonymity. Sure, you know me, but the me you read about and the man you see are far from the same, and by the time you next see me I might as well be in costume.