Courtney has a Divine Experience and it Makes Her Very Sad....

Everyone complains about the snow, but it really is beautiful. Tonight around 10:30 I took Ginger outside to walk. In our neighborhood we had probably 20 inches of snow, but on the streets there was only an inch or two of packed snow, plus the additional 2+ inches that had been and continued to fall. The time of night (late), and the poor road conditions combined to create a very, very quiet night. In our 45 minute walk we saw only one car, and even then, the truck's engine noises seemed muffled by the snow. But anyways, the world was silent. No birds, no people, no cars. The noise of the world had literally faded away. But it was not silent. Falling snow makes an interesting sound. It doesn't make the soft, puffy sound one would imagine as it falls. Instead, it is almost a metallic (albeit very quiet), distinct sound. Though I've seen snow many times before, it seemed as if tonight was the first time I really listened to the falling snow. It was so beautiful. The snow fell heavily, and Ginger loved playing in it. She buried her face in the snow, chased snowflakes, and romped in the drifts. I found myself actually laughing out loud though I was alone. Nothing out of the ordinary happened on that walk; I just really enjoyed it.

I came back inside covered with snow. I was out long enough for nearly an inch to fall. My mom and my sisters were gathered in the hearth room watching some tv show. "It's amazing outside," I commented. They mostly ignored me and rushed to dry the dog off. They all settled back in to watch tv. I was a little hungry, so I made myself stove popped popcorn (absolutely amazing on cold winter nights). I sat at the kitchen table to eat it, and tried again: "You should have seen it outside. It was so beautiful. You should go out with me later." Jessica was the one who responded: "Yeah Courtney, you already told us. Thanks."
That moment was so insignificant, and like so many others that occur on a daily basis, but right then I just felt SO alone. Physically isolated, yes. I was sitting at the kitchen table and the rest of my family was gathered in the hearth room. But on an emotional and mental state, too, I couldn't have been further away from them. And not just my family. People in general.

Family is the strangest concept to me. You are created by your parents, who also create your siblings. Genetically, you are tied together. Yet somehow that is also supposed to create this unbreakable emotional bond. For some reason, I'm the weirdo who doesn't feel that intimate closeness that I'm supposed to. Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful. Sometimes. My parents gave me the foundation to be very successful in life. Now that I'm becoming more mature I find myself enjoying my mother's company more. But there still isn't that... spark. That crazy, family love that I know other people have. And sadly, I know this isn't one sided. When Jess gets angry and screams at me that mom always complains about me, and that my parents can't wait for me to leave, I know it's not solely the anger talking. I'm the prickly one, the child that is REALLY hard to love. I get it, I just don't know why.
Extended family is even more difficult. I was raised thousands of miles away from my maternal grandparents, and saw them a maximum of once a year for the first ten years of my life. Probably about 5 or 6 times total by the age of ten, when I moved to Springfield, though I can probably only remember 3 of those times. So we move to Missouri, and here are these people that I remember being with 3 times in my life, who I am supposed to prioritize. My mom is big on family. So when we moved here we were expected to spend all our holidays and most special occasions with these people who I barely knew. And honestly, I haven't ever grown to like it.  I have absolutely nothing in common with these people. I'm not like them, I spend very little time with them, and when I am with them, I spend my time trying to avoid them. Yet they are the ones who fill the chairs at my birthday dinners. They are the ones who I have to give up my weekend for to visit. It's the strangest concept to me, and it makes so little sense. But, I digress.


On an episode of Criminal Minds tonight Gideon was describing being on a college campus. He describes being able to observe the students' emotions, their attitudes, their mindset. He can identify how they feel and why they feel it. Yet he cannot internalize it. Gideon has passed the point of being able to be one of the teenagers. He can look at their lives from the outside, but will never again be able to experience the innocent, naive, carefree frivolities of youth. I understood what Gideon explained perfectly. I look at my peers and I observe their lives. I understand most of it, and am even involved in some of it. But I will never be able to connect to them like they can with each other. Granted, I am NOT saying that this is because I'm more mature than them. Rather, I just wanted to use the analogy to highlight this growing feeling of isolation. I have reached a mental state where I am unable to have the same relationships with people that they have with each other. And I am afraid I'll never be able to have a normal relationship with a person again. Terrified, really. And the longer I am aware of this, the more I find myself craving a normal relationship.

I'll finish this later. Or maybe I'll be too lazy to. It's almost 3 am and I don't think I'm making any sense any more.