Masochist

Have you guys ever seen When Harry Met Sally? I didn’t watch it for the first time until last year, and I watched it in search of some sort of solicitation of powerful emotion from a film. I go to movies and music and books and art all the time looking for something that will make me cry because I can turn to it and see my own tragedy played out in a way that is more palatable, less visceral, less violent. I watched that movie and I think I shed one tear out of one eye, and I was disappointed that there wasn’t more. I was disappointed that I didn’t break down and lose myself at the thought of a love that is realized just in time, and the suffering that comes with being something akin to ships in the night. The idea that it could be so perfect as to realize something right before it may be too late, to run through the street on New Years and show someone that they already love you and they have already been loving you, they just haven’t realized it until then- it’s almost impossibly perfect. There’s the right amount of torment, which is crucial to any good love story, and there’s that cathartic “it’s you, I have always been looking for you” moment. What a wonderful thing. In theory of course.

What about Little Women? The new one with Timothee Chalamet and Ladybird! New is generous, it came out in 2020 right? I will not be checking. Have you seen it, though? I actually quite liked it, which is out of character for me because I’m really not into movies like that. I have seen it maybe 5 times since my original viewing which was in an almost empty theater with 3 of my friends in London on some rainy day (rainy day in London, ha) and after we watched it I got so upset when one of those friends told me I was an Amy that I cried. Doesn’t he know I’m Jo? Amy would not be opining about nothing on substack like me. She would be posting “who want me” on her story or something. Maybe I misunderstood the movie though, but either way, he and I cleared that up pretty quickly. I’m Jo. I am not even referring to the romantic aspect of it, I just think she and I are alike.

How about Frances Ha? The Worst Person in the World? Oh, wait, what about Paris, Texas? Surely all of these very famous and popular movies I have just referenced are things you have not heard of, and you’re extremely welcome for putting you on, I’m always doing this. I guess I just wanted to say that a lot of my favorite art is just me, or the pain I happen to be feeling at the time. That’s not an original idea by any means, but I feel like when I show someone something I’m always trying to just show them me. There are exceptions of course, sometimes things are just so good you want to share them so other people can enjoy them too. These two notions are not mutually exclusive obviously, but I’m not really thinking about what I want to write right now, I’m just doing it. Sorry.

I sat on my couch all day today, and I thought. I thought about how I feel and what my year has looked like and what I was doing on this day last year. On this day last year, I was probably looking for a movie to watch that in any way conveyed some sort of meaningful representation of the enormity of my suffering at the time. I was likely searching “Saddest Movies Of All Time Reddit” and getting so angry every time someone suggested Eternal Sunshine that I probably cried about it. Eternal Sunshine is obviously very sad and very good, but I needed something fresh! Now, I am just upset Sentimental Value is playing at inconvenient locations for me and I can’t just put it on the television and watch it from here. But, before I lose myself too much and start complaining about film accessibility and that heinous acquisition that is taking place right now by Netflix, I should get back on track. I find myself now, sitting on the couch in the same spot I was in last year, almost entirely free of the suffering I just mentioned. I almost said ‘aforementioned’ but I’m trying to sound more casual in these, even though I already treat them like nonsensical diary entries anyway. I still think about it of course, but when I look for a movie to watch it’s not really on my mind, at least not every time.

I spent a long time trying to figure out how to write about that painful situation actually, and I never could really get to a place where I liked anything I had to say about it or could retain any sort of plausible deniability if someone were to accuse me of the subject matter and be correct. Now, a year later, I don’t even really want to write about it. I don’t even really want to think about it, which is interesting because I love to torture myself. Thinking about things past, wanting what I cannot have, feeling badly for the sake of it- these are just a few of my hobbies. I guess I actually decided to sit down and write today because I haven’t been torturing myself as much lately, but, I started to today a little bit. I started to think about how it feels like I’m being punished for something but I don’t know what it is. I started to think about how I am presented with impossibilities so full of potential goodness but kept at an arm’s length and how there can only be so many more times where this happens before I give up entirely and resign myself to a life well lived alone and unfulfilled by work or romance or friendship or financial freedom. But I am trying hard not to let the fear and the torture win. I don’t think any of you care, but I am really trying to try. I sometimes won’t try and I’ll just let it take over me and defend this behavior by saying the only way to be rid of a feeling is to actually feel it in its entirety and also that pain feels good. These things are both true sometimes, but other times you actually just have to fight it. There has to be some sort of effort involved in living and it can’t only be towards the exterior. Sometimes accepting the pain and almost relishing in it (shameful btw) makes me feel crazy and stupid and bad. I guess this has turned into confession somehow. Feel free to stop reading here.

But there is that whole thing about the pain. If I think too hard about it I can’t decide if I actually enjoy it or if I just want to enjoy it so badly I have convinced myself I really do. Is that the same thing or different? Sometimes when I have trouble sorting through my feelings about a situation I will ask myself, well, ok, what if I was someone else? What if these situations I’m referring to very vaguely and mysteriously (I’m very mysterious) were not happening to me but a good friend? Would I think they were crazy or stupid or bad for feeling how they were feeling and really embracing the pain? I see how doing this could be helpful, but then I have the thought that creating a narrative distance between yourself and your experiences/how you experience things could make you colder, less immersed in your own sensations. But, sometimes when it hurts really badly, I wonder if that is really the worst thing in the world to do. I do all this very stupid and cringe thinking and then arrive at the same conclusion no matter what though, which is just as stupid and cringe to me especially seeing it written out in front of me- it is good to be able to be in so much pain. Like, ok, imagine if nothing hurt, and you were totally free from the suffering that comes as a package deal with living. What then? How well could you really know yourself if you didn’t know what it felt like to be in pain? What type of person would you be? You would be someone with far fewer beautiful and rich experiences because you would be robbed of what it feels like to identify suffering and lack. You would never know the joy of Moving On, the elation of Getting Through, the glee of Realizing It Was For The Best. You would never feel accomplished because you would not know what it felt like to lose. You would be half of who you are right now. At least that is how I feel about myself. Maybe it’s cope. Maybe I’m coping. Many such cases, but the likelihood of that being the case does not really alter my sentiment.

Another thing is that even when the pain is so horrible and I’m wishing for it to be over and I can’t convince myself it feels good, the thought process is never “I wish I never had to feel this way.” I never want to rewind and forget the feeling. My thought process is almost always, “I wish for this to be over” in a forward motion. To solve the feeling, to tackle the cause, to find my way out. I want it to be healed, not gone. I mean sure, there are a million and a half things I wish never happened blah blah blah, but that’s different. Those are little things. I try to, and mostly succeed at, maintaining the mindset of- if I could go back in time I would live through it all again if it meant I would still get to where I am today. I would endure it a hundred times over if it meant I would meet the people I know, if it meant I would get to do the things I have been lucky enough to do. That is what I mean about the pain. I see it as a vehicle to something better. All of that led me to this. All of that led me to a place where I can sit in my quiet apartment with my cats, looking for some bullshit movie that makes me cry, with a phone full of friends that would be here if I called and asked them to come. I guess my whole point is I need to find a movie to watch, and I need to stop thinking about myself so much. It’ll probably all be ok anyhow.