La un moment dat, nenorocitul a devenit principalul lucru despre care vorbim cand vine vorba de relatii. Acest lucru frenetic, moale, stralucitor al unui text Gchat sau al unui grup care imi cere sfaturi in orele noi este un fel minunat de comuniune pe care o am cu prietenii mei de toate genurile. Ii pretuiesc si imi este draga ocazia de a-mi sustine prietenii in vietile lor romantice si in aventurile lor sexuale. Imi imaginez ca intruchipeaza o matusa Cool in aceste situatii, o prezenta iubitoare, dar una care te va avertiza in termeni incerti sa nu te angajezi cu dracul (Si te va implora mereu sa fii in siguranta!). In parte, deschiderea mea de a vorbi despre naiba in Brooklyn – si in alte parti – este o munca de dragoste. Pentru ca, personal, nu este tot atat de important pentru mine; conteaza pentru oamenii din jurul meu, asa ca pentru mine conteaza.
Am fost intr-o relatie serioasa de cand am aterizat in Brooklyn si nu este nimic mai bun. Pentru mine, nenorocitul nu a fost niciodata in fruntea mintii, chiar inainte de a fi intrat in relatia mea actuala acum aproape doi ani. Ca atatea relatii, a mea a fost extrem de neplanificata si mai ales intamplatoare. Tocmai m-am mutat la New York pentru a lucra la o revista (indeplinind acel cliseu) cand m-am intalnit cu cineva care era doar un cunoscut la acea vreme. L-am lovit si am inceput sa petrecem timp impreuna. Apoi, aproape ametitor, aceste perioade de timp s-au acumulat intr-o intimitate mai profunda. Acest lucru se datora partial pentru ca am avut mult timp interese si prieteni reciproci. Era prea usor sa fii unul cu celalalt.
Dar a existat acest lucru: barbatul meu frumos nu era strain de pierderi sau traume. Partenerul sau anterior s-a pierdut din cauza sinuciderii, lucru pe care il stiam si totusi, nu a avut niciodata in vedere pe deplin pana cand nu era clar ca o relatie serioasa se manifesta intre noi. As fi fost izolat sa ma confrunt in mod semnificativ cu ce ar fi sa supravietuiesc sinuciderii unei persoane dragi din cauza faptului ca pur si simplu nu trebuia. Dar, odata ce m-am indragostit de el, a devenit imposibil sa nu mapam contururile acestei pierderi.
In cele din urma, m-am instrainat de conversatie, dorind sa pot vorbi cu prietenii mei despre detaliile relatiei mele despre felul in care vorbim despre relatiile lor, viata lor sexuala. M-am trezit cam amar si incredibil ca nenorocitul ar putea fi sfarsitul tuturor si sa fie tot ceea ce vorbim cand vine vorba de relatiile noastre. Dar literalmente orice altceva? Daca nu este sexy, este inca in discutie?
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Al naibii este ceea ce ar trebui sa vorbim ca tineri. Are mult sens ca ne-am dori; este vital, interesant si placut. In schimb, greutatea durerii este o povara nevazuta cand esti tanar. Oamenii sunt palpabil de incomod cu ideea de pierdere in contextul tineretii; nu putem suporta sa ne gandim la parintii care isi traiesc copiii pentru ca este atat de gresit . Vietile tinere pline de potential nespus nu ar trebui sa ajunga la un sfarsit timpuriu – incalca un fel de ordine naturala. Cand pierdem viata tanara, este trist sa ne bazam pe pierdere, dar mai periculos, te obliga sa iei in considerare, daca doar pentru o clipa, posibilitatea ca pierderea sa te atinga de ordine. Exista un anumit privilegiu de a nu fi nevoit sa efectuezi acel calcul.
There are the expected things about dating someone who has been through this–that healing takes time, that supporting someone through loss can be draining, that suicide is a taboo topic. But then there are the unexpected things like the way his ex’s mother looks so small at the one year memorial service, the way the holidays can feel like living with a ghost, the way people look at you for stepping into a relationship with him, like that. All of which I wish I could talk to my friends about. But I don’t. Not really.
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Honestly, I think each of us deserves a medal in love. It’s hard out here. But often, I find myself wishing we were able to talk about all of our battles. No matter what they look like, and even if they’re not sexy. Even if they’re ugly. I want to hear about fucking in the context of Tinder or the social networks that cultivate scarcity and anxiety in this dumb town (Naming things out loud takes away their power, often). I also want to hear about trauma in the context of love and relationships, I want my friends to know that we can talk about their ugly. We’re literally all ugly, and I think we should talk about it if we want to. I’m tired of hearing about my friends and their friends or lovers suffering in isolation, a story that has become far too familiar.
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I want to talk about fucking, and love, and death and the violences we all live with daily with as much ease as those harms are inflicted upon us. Don’t we owe each other at least that much? Of course it’s hard to take time and space for each other. It’s uncomfortable and messy and we don’t always have the capacity. It’s easier to talk about fucking, surface stuff. But recently, I’ve acted with the certainty that whatever community I want to build will move with intention when it comes to holding each other down.
Sometimes, when I feel pessimistic, I ask myself how we learn to talk to one another when we are constantly sharing curated microfacets of our lives online? It feels impossible when we’re all intent on projecting versions of ourselves we think others will like. I don’t have the answers, but I’m genuinely interested in finding them. And though it feels a little silly to say out loud, I’m down with the ugly in everyone I love. I’m hoping that we all give each other permission to be ugly–despite limitations on what we feel we can talk about when it comes to our relationships–soon.
