I made it out to be something “real” and existential, and it was everything but.
Watching that scene in Garden State where Natalie Portman quietly retreats and cries hysterically while Zach Braff leaves to figure his shit out. It reminds me of the time I hugged him outside LAX and was so incredibly sad to have him leave.
I cried that entire ride to and from because I was being selfish and because I thought that somehow that showed a type of affection that I still can’t show. I know that I was wrong, now. After the fact, I realize that this wasn’t at all romantic and I wasn’t doing anyone favors or showing off my new found comfort with public displays of affection. This was all in my head. And even after it ended as badly as it did, I sit here and watch this movie again and I can noticeably see how much more happy I am and how I don’t feel the need to romanticize something as as heavy as my mental illness to feel like I can function. Because the truth is, it’s not at all romantic to feel like it’s weighing you down.
I guess I just feel different. I guess I feel like my issues with both commitment and affection aren’t badges of honor, but they are things that are reflective of that pride I once held for being young and full of love… Or so I thought. At 29, that isn’t the case anymore.
I’m glad he left, and I’m glad I cried hysterically. I’m glad I figured out why I did everything the way that I did and I’m glad at the things I’m accomplishing for myself now. I’m glad that I cry everyday for dumb shit, and not for dumb sad shit. I’m happy to have the company that I do, and I’m just generally happy to feel like I can feel, positively, for the first time in a long one.
This is all I got, and I don’t know what to do with it…. But I’m glad it’s there.
