"Point? There is no point."

I remember when all this broke loose. I was at my parents place. And I started to cry in front of my father. And he did nothing. I know that it wasn't because he didn't care. It was because he did not know what to do. He was scared.

So I talked about it the other day and came to the conclusion that I am just like that. Some opposition was raised, but look at the facts.

There are numerous times when I did something that I realized was wrong and instead of going in and apologizing I just stormed of and hid because I was afraid. And I was ashamed of myself.

I remember when S and E broke up. It scared me to death. Not because I thought that it would fuck up my relationship, but because I didn't know what to do. Not once did I ask her how she was doing. Not once did I call her and ask her how she was dealing with this, how she was dealing with life, how she was coping, if she needed or wanted company or someone to talk to. Not once. Because I was afraid. Afraid of what? Stupid Fucking Idiot. Like with mys sister. When she and M broke up, did I call her to ask how she was doing? Did I ever bring it up? Or when she was dating that idiot, did I ever talk to her? No. Have I ever done that to anybody? I can't remember a single incident when I haven't shyed away from it. Until all this shit hit the fan. But I can feel it disappearing. The guts, not the knowledge.

This runs through my life. Just a series of missed chances to just ask people "how are you doing? Really?"

I don't know how to do this.

Most days I am pretty OK. I keep myself occupied. I read. I walk. I work. I spend time with people. I listen to music. I think. I think about things that have nothing to do with this. I fantazise. I dream. So most days I am pretty OK. But I still have a hole in me. In my life. It is a weird feeling, this. Just missing something. Just missing a point, a reason. Maybe it is good, in the kind of "what doesn't kill you make you stronger" kind of way. It's just strange. I can't remember ever having felt like this before. There was always some kind of point. Something that just made it feel... Like there was a point. Something a bit bigger than just amusing for five minutes. Because that is all that I am doing now. Just finding stuff that is funny right now. And in a way I always envied her ability to do that. To find such joy in a smell, or how something looked. Or the feel of paper. Or the feel of someones skin. It just doesn't feel as big to me. Or maybe it does. Maybe my expectations of what life is about is too big.

And yes yes. I know there are lots of things and people in my life and bla bla bla. That is not the point.