Squint

Dating is part of what's making me so unbearable to be
around lately. I mean, come on, I'm crabby as hell and
it's mainly due to the lack of sincerity in my life and the
invasion of others' energy from every angle and perspective.

"In our endeavor we are never seeing eye to eye
No guts to sever so forever may we wave good-bye
And you're always telling me that it's my turn to move
When I wonder what could make the needle jump the
groove"

What I can't seem to get off my mind is how much I feel
trapped in myself right now. I started re-reading Frankenstein
and I'm feeling the alienation so much differently this read
than I did the last. I mean, I'm actually feeling it personally --
I don't recall having that happen before. And, it got me thinking
about two things: AI, which was the most horrendously
gut-wrenching movie I've ever seen and Anna Karenina, which
is probably one of the most heart-breaking novels of all time.

In Anna K, Tolstoy writes Anna with a nervous tick. Every time
she's forced to face something she doesn't like or deal with a
truth she doesn't want to believe, Anna squints her eyes.
The squint becomes a metaphor for distance and disregard. As
if, when she doesn't look at something head-on
with eyes wide open, Anna can somehow negate its existence.
Brilliant. Two thumbs up to a great approach to life. Ignore
whatever makes you sad or uncomfortable.

The problem? Right now, I'm what's making me sad and
uncomfortable and the alienation I feel is born out of the
foreignness I feel with myself. Tonight I really noticed it, how
wound up around myself I am. How much all my defenses are
up and how closed off I am from interacting with people. Like
I can will everyone else's energy away from me and keep mine
shut up inside.

100 years ago (at least it feels that way now, though it was
actually 7 1/2 years), I wrote a brilliant analysis of Tolstoy's
use of the squint in Anna K. I can't remember exactly what my
conclusion was, but I'm pretty sure it went something like this:
As long as Anna refuses to see the truth she will remain locked
in her own self-actualized hell. Though she thinks the reality
of her life is too harsh to bear, the opposite is probably true.
In fact, most likely, she would be better to see what is actually
there, acknowledge it, feel it, and move past it. By hiding from
it she's only prolonging her mental and emotional distress and
wearing down the fabric of her fortitude and independence.
Tolstoy uses the squint as a means of revealing her
vulnerability and her deep regret for the ways she has
underperformed in her own eyes.

Pretty beautiful stuff.

So what's it mean for me, now, 7 1/2 years later? I need to
let all of this out. I need to feel it. I really, actually, need a
good cry. I need to stop bottling every bit of what I'm
experiencing up and winding it tight in my gut where it's
wreaking havoc on my soul. But honestly, I'm afraid of the
stress of feeling these emotions and I'm scared I don't have
anyone in my life strong enough to support me through
them. It is easier to bury them.

But, driving home tonight, when I pulled down my visor mirror
and saw my reflection squinting back at me I realized that I've
got to start paying attention to what's impeding my vision --
namely, me.