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This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author. |
011026. This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author. Saturday Invitation It’s Saturday. I cleaned the house today. Not the deep, purposeful kind of cleaning, but the kind that keeps my hands busy and my mind just occupied enough not to wander too far. I wiped counters that were already clean. Folded laundry that didn’t need immediate attention. Moved things from one place to another and back again. At some point, an invitation came in. Dinner and a movie. Friends I genuinely like. People I’ve known for a long time. I wanted to go. That part surprised me a little. I typed a response and erased it. Typed another. Erased that too. In the end, I declined. I used one of my practiced reasons. Nothing dramatic. Just a polite no, softened at the edges. As soon as I sent it, I felt relief. That came with its own kind of disappointment. When I do go out, on the rare occasions I say yes, I notice how quiet I become. How I sit back instead of leaning in. I listen more than I speak. I smile at the right moments. I nod. I do all the things that look like participation, but somehow I remain just outside the circle. I feel awkward in crowds now. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe I just feel uncomfortable around most people. There’s always a part of my mind that doesn’t fully stand down. I notice who’s nearby. Who’s watching. Who’s standing too close. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, but the thought still arrives fully formed. There could be someone watching. That’s usually where I stop myself. I don’t finish the thought. I don’t let it go any further than that. Being at home feels easier. The quiet doesn’t ask anything of me. The walls are familiar. The space feels controlled. I know where everything is. I know who belongs here. I don’t have to perform safety. I can just exist. Sometimes I worry about what this looks like from the outside. How often I say no. How narrow my life might appear. I wonder if people think I’m distant or uninterested, or if they’ve stopped asking altogether. I don’t know which would bother me more. Tonight, I stayed in. I made something simple for dinner. I fed the cat. I checked the locks, the doors, the windows. I’m aware that this isn’t how I used to be. I’m also aware that, right now, this is what feels manageable. I don’t know if this is avoidance or self-preservation. Maybe it’s both. |
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