I wanted to clear up something important: it’s not cool or amazing or oh-so-unique to be a recluse in any fashion.
There’s nothing cool about it at all. It’s a horrible place to be. It is stupid. There is nothing to be esteemed about.
The whole “tortured artist” vibe or the “you just don’t get it” or whatever else is exceedingly ignorant of one’s position in the world, and a trek toward nothingness.
Again, if you ever want to measure someone’s intelligence, see if they’re happy.
Objectively, having people in your life to talk to about the inane and nothing is what is redeemable with living. Being a workaholic, or a recluse, or anything else, is the wrong path if you’re miserable all the time.
The reason I am a recluse is because I cannot stand the pain of being a half-ghost. I’d rather be full-ghost or full-flesh. But not this weird bastardized form that most socialization takes place in: text messages and other things. Group chats, whatever else. Snapchats if you’re in pain enough. I don’t like doing halfsies. If you want to talk then let’s have a saunter, even if we’ll saunter along 6 lane highways.
I don’t like these forms of communication. I don’t like deluding myself that these people are in my life when they aren’t. It feels pointless to give them attention – even though that feeling is wrong, because objectively having connections means for a higher quality life – yet it persists. Sometimes I am reminded of the futility of anything else and so muster some energy to text others only to feel more despair afterward when it does hit. Waiting for it to hit again, probably.
No matter how many thoughtful words could be exchanged, the fundamentals stay intact: that is, you are still alone. You are still in your apartment. You still work the same job, and whatever ails you is on you to fix. There is no village.
And that’s a real shame, isn’t it? I’m not going to pretend that being a recluse is a good idea despite my above explanations.
It’s the coward’s way out. It’s the sheepish, the docile, the obedient, the yes man which says, “well shucks I guess that’s just how it is” – but after a certain point I’ve resigned myself to this. Because it is cowardly and stupid, but I resigned myself to it.
So, let’s be clear, don’t misunderstand for a moment: being a recluse, or someone who “isn’t understood” or anything else are just cop outs. It’s not about being unique or anything. It’s just giving up.
If you really wanted to, you could plan to live near friends. You could smile and have a friendly chat, mimic the French salons if you’re so inclined. Perhaps you’re waiting to be the budding socialite, and garner some power, some connections, change the world through each heart you manage to touch while you’re here.
I am just a lazy, cowardly one. That is all. There is nothing to admire about it at all. Most of the things written on here lean toward a neuroticism not admirable, lean toward a fretting that is unbecoming, and there’s nothing admirable about it.
I just can’t stand the damn transience of it all. I just can’t. Because I figure even if I moved close, or if I reached out to those nearby, it’s still me staring at the screen by the end of it.
In the silence so I instead hope to learn how to enjoy it alone. And it works mostly. But I won’t deny it for a second: this isn’t a first-choice trek to choose, and it works all because I am in a node of a very complex system which allows me to get my essentials even if there’s decay all around.
In the end, I have no one to blame but myself.
In the end, despite this clarification, I secretly relish in my ability to endure the mental frontier of concrete walls and a room-for-one with suburbs spanning for miles. Why? Because it feels like I at least solved some set of psychological issues by doing so. But maybe it’s solved the same way you slap duct-tape on the tin roof for the next storm. Because even when I manage to get together with others, my void grows larger and larger and it all points to something that isn’t worth exploring too much when one could instead just get a nice nap in and turn off the phone or anything else.
Who knows, maybe this entire entry is wrong. Or half or it, a third, whatever. That’s on you to figure out. I wrote all of this, but I don’t really care anymore. Deep, deep down, I just feel this foreboding pointlessness. I cannot help but believe that being a recluse is the best option, all things considered. Deep down, I’ve always doubted that phrase: “humans are social creatures” – it’s more fun to be an alien at the moment.