All of the issues I’ve had in my life boil down to one common denominator: communication. I realise now with the benefit of age that had I been more demonstrative in my youth, and learnt to communicate better, I could have solved so many of my long term issues at a stroke. In a world now utterly obsessed over how it is perceived and presented, telling people what you want/need/how you feel is more important than ever before. It is odd therefore that I now spend more time not communicating immediately, and far more thought is placed on what comes out of my mouth or onto a screen than was ever considered before.

However, some days I have no desire to play the games that the rest of society demand are required to be polite. I just can’t do it. It’s the equivalent of having to tell lie after untruth in an attempt to try and exist in a place you simply do not belong in. It was like being in the shop today listening to two women complaining about stuff that wasn’t either bad or wrong, but just normal. I wanted to point out that all of their woes were superfluous, completely invented issues that would pale into insignificance if they could grasp even the slightest of bigger pictures. At one point one of the women looked at me as if expecting me to just smile, nod and agree with them, when I would have taken them both to task for their outlooks. Except, I sat quietly, waited my turn and said nothing. Once upon a time I’d have avoided the shop, so that’s progress.

The same is true for Social media on days like this: you don’t have anything constructive to say, so nothing’s just easier. The people who can do care 24/7 become impressively amazing, because you’re just incapable of keeping up the illusion. You don’t really want to ask for help, even though you’re desperate to talk to someone, anyone, because then you forget why, when surrounded by all of these people, you just feel totally dead inside and can’t make it go away. If you do make a fuss, it just feels like attention seeking, and there’s no way to stop the feeling of perpetual guilt that weighs you down. The stupid thing, of course, is that you’ll wake up tomorrow and it will all be a hangover, bad dream, and you’ll look back on the feelings with increasing amounts of understanding.

These are the bad days. You look forward to sleep, so they can become nothing but a memory.