Facets

I wrote the following passage at a time where I was struggling to understand what I wanted and how I felt. I’ve come a long way from the mental state I was in when I wrote it, and a lot of the progress came from physically listing everything I was feeling – sorting it out in a physical way is infinitely easier than attempting to muddle through it all in my brain. If nothing else, I feel like it is a fascinating way to visualize how my brain processes difficult concepts. After writing, and talking through everything with a few close friends, I reached a place where I was no longer pulled in 100 different directions. And now I’m slowly approaching my own internal resolution. So here I document how I felt, as a reminder of who I was, who I want to be, and how I thought through a disheartening situation.

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It has become increasingly clear to me in the past few days just how many facets of me I am balancing. My ability to compartmentalize has always been there, and I think it’s helped me significantly in the past, but sometimes I think it just bites me in the ass. This is me, trying to elucidate how the hell my brain works. And while I may be writing here about my various reactions on one specific topic, I actually do this for pretty much anything that causes me to stress out. Let’s see how many facets we can find. Shall we?

Anticipation

They sat, side by side, on the couch. His feet were planted on the floor, hands resting by his sides. She had her legs folded underneath her. She was leaning slightly toward him due to her chosen position, hands in her lap. They both stared at the TV, but to be honest, she hadn't the faintest idea what she was watching. Her back was stiff, but she couldn't come up with a way to shift her weight that wouldn't seem awkward or fidgety. She settled for moving her hands out of her lap and letting them land on the couch.

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He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. So still. Prim even. Was she really that enthralled with what was on the TV? He'd been looking toward it, sure, but he had been unable to focus on anything other than the girl sitting next to him. Her eyes seemed to be analyzing every pixel, memorizing each scene. Perhaps he was the only one in the room whose mind was so distracted. He did not want to be watching TV. Not with her body so close to his. But if she was enjoying it, he could restrain himself for a bit longer.