| back & forth |
			September 29, 2017 @ 11:51 p.m.
			The music was everything.
			I watched Okja and all of Rectify on Netflix. They were sad and infuriating and not real. I worry I truly feel nothing and am increasingly relying on fiction to experience sadness or happiness, even anger— anything that will remind me I am an empathetic person, not some sociopath that cannot connect. The problem is fantasy tends to consume me. If I have veered towards nonfiction in my reading, it's because I cannot afford the fogginess that comes with living in my head. Not right now. I often imagine that’s how addiction feels, like disassociation— a constant fight for focus and a palpable pull towards a faraway. It feels good to get lost inside and that’s a sad reality of my real life. But hey, I feel worry, so there’s that.
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