author's note

It’s not that she’s not thrilled to be there. It’s not that she wants to leave now, and never come back. She just feels thin, sort of stretched. Like butter scraped over too much bread. And at the same time, it’s as though the walls of her bower are closing in about her…

Hiatuses happen. In an attempt to reclaim the fractures, third person narration is being suspended. It’s no surprise that trying to be the best person to everyone makes you pretty sick of yourself. At work I just want to be home. At home I want to be anywhere else. But with more snow falling and further obscuring the already ice-covered paths, I don’t dare go running or into the woods. It was hard enough walking back in the dark during the fall; I probably wouldn’t make it back if I tried now. And despite the fatalistic attitude I affect during these apathetic/anxious times, I don’t have a death wish (the near anxiety attacks I get every time I drive now are proof of that…). I would, however, like to be unconscious, but again it’s the same broken record of pseudo-insomnia for me. I’m tired through the day and unable to stay asleep at night, and positively dread getting up in the morning (there is very little tempting me at any time of the day, let alone in the cold morning). Compound that with the bad dreams and nightmares that are starting up again and you’ve got a great recipe for zombie-Ashley. And maybe if I were able to extend the apathetic not-caring to how I felt about not-caring (because I’m self-reflective to a fault and can’t just experience things once, but have to analyze my responses, and then those responses, and then…) I could ignore everything and eventually find my way back. But the guilt I always feel over my insurmountable lack is quite debilitating. Instead of spurring me on, it seems every attempt flounders in the wake of another recital of my current wrong-doing. And I know better. I know that focusing on my faults instead of proactively looking towards solutions is part of the problem. There are glorious moments of inspiration where I feel I may become my cheeky self again and do all of the little things that have built up to smother me. Then there are times like now when I know the Negaverse is winning and I just don’t care.

The end results will be the same as usual: I’ll languor in my self-indulgent, existential ennui, burdening the people I care about and hating myself for it. I’ll attempt to cut myself away so as to lessen the damage and regain a grasp on the burden-shouldering person I “should” be. I’ll over-compensate my “happy responses” and will appear very disingenuous, but they’ll eventually settle back into normal peacekeeping patterns. Finally, I’ll be back on a level plateau and will scorn past-Ashley for being so lazy as to allow self-centered inaction to take the time and chances she had with people for granted.

Let me clarify: this isn’t culture shock sending me down a rabbit hole I’ve never traveled before. This is an old, familiar rut I’ve tread many times. In theory, the more awareness I gain from it, the easier it will be for me to see it before I’m in it or maybe at least find a way out faster. The best thing for other people to do is to ignore it, and if you can please forgive my behavior. I’m not seeking advice because I already know the right thing to do. I’m not seeking affirmation because that only leads to guilt. I know it sounds like I’m being quite hypocritical by talking about myself so much now, but really I’m just seeking transparency. I try to be as genuine as possible, but it’s always at war with my peace-keeper impulses to make the best of everyone and everything. I do honestly think there is good in everyone and everything and can sometimes fool myself to believe it, too. But a lot of the time a disharmony grows between what I want to believe and what I feel. I want to be the kind of person appreciating the present moment and not longing for “someday”. So, I pretend to be a girl on an adventure. Every day in her story may have the same occurrences that happen to me, but through her I’m able to twist the lens and make things wonderful. A story is only as good as the telling of it, so I spin my story into something I want to hear. I know the people I interact with and the things I see and the thoughts I think are significant. But I can’t always appreciate that significance from my baseline apathy/pessimism. We’re told to change our perspectives when problems arise —and that’s what I do. It just happens that my usual perspective is an “alternate” perspective and it’s times like now that I am returned to my “having-none-of-this” self.

Joking aside, I’m trying to be better. I’m trying not to feel obliged to my friends and instead enjoy their company trusting that if I did become a burden they’d tell me. I’m trying to remember that I will never be a perfect person, and certainly not in my mid-20s. I’m trying to remember that no one expects me to be a perfect person, and that I am not constantly letting everyone and the world down. I just kind of wanted to explain a little so there wasn’t the wrong idea that I was some tortured soul wasting away in Japan and drawing away from everyone because I didn’t think they’d understand my terribly unique and never-before experienced angst.

I’m fine. If things seem a little dusty it’s because I’m cleaning out the attic. Sometimes you just fall into a pile of boxes you thought you’d already gotten rid of and it takes more time than you thought to straighten things out.