One of my least favourite experiences is, what I call, getting blurry. It is not the same as dissasociating because you’re not experiencing an out of body experience in fact, it does not feel bodily at all. It sort of zooms you out of everything around you – you dress up in your ultimate peripheral view where details blur together as if watching a distant moving painting. My latest encounter with blurriness was during a recent night of festivities, arguably one of the least enticing times to feel that way. My best friend and I had a couple of drinks at my apartment and had been having our natrual back and forth like tides pushing back and forth – we have not been friends for long, but our friendship feels everlasting and naturally adequate without the explosive intensity that required constant care and a rippling cling onto one another. Instead, things felt calm and comforting as if we could lean onto one another without loosing our heads.
Issues arrived however, once we had met up with others. All the people we met with that evening were odly placed in the sphere of my social chart: an old high school friend, friends of friends and distant acquaintances that I had heard more of than from. I was certainly intrigued by the group and what dynamics would arise, but as I found out, it was nothing favourable.
Something I find truly fascinating is the concuction of people in social settings. If you host a party, you need to calculate what groups and mix of people you know could function well within the aspired setting, otherwise the consequences can be detrimental; awkward tension, a room of people that solemly rely on you to keep it alive or even social conflict of interests and values. I have hosted numerous festivities and watched how a sea of chameleons change their skin in different shades to different people as if adding different spices of traits in the pot of people alter the character chemistry and bring out different tones of flavour. I can even admit that I can begin to mirror the circumstance by heightening or loosening parts of my own character. This is probably why I feel so victorious if I have manage to mix group of friends and still have an organically social event flourish.
However, that night on the town I got to envision something that I had never been able to puzzled together before. As if we were back in high school, I witnessed my best friend devolve into someone I used to know from that time. Memories of the constant bickering and banter that would be thrown back and forth in classrooms and hallways came flooding back – the old high school friend began his sassy comments and mean girl demeanour. My best friend, in response, would tread back into her old shoes and compensate and almost convince everyone of an uplifting scenery between all of us. It was especially uncomortable when we were listening to an orchestra performance, as I sat in that row there between her and the rest of the group; concentrating on the exceptional strings that vibrated through the walls and coloured the place in gold delight light, immersion became very challenging. To my right were jabbering comment of complaint and sighs of boredome whilst on my left, was extreme excitement of child, hoping that its delight would dust of and effect the rest. Unfortunately, I did not work all too well and instead brought sadness to the hyper performance. I felt stuck and unable to understand what attitude would glue this polarising contrasts of emotions.
After the show, things began fitting into place as liqour covered lipsa spunn rapidly into jokes and tales that bounced across the bar table. I, on the other hand, could not find my way inside conversation. Not sure if it was the confusion from before or some other unresolved feeling from earlier, but I felt unable to reach out. It was as if everyone around me were inside different bubbles of conversation and for some reason, mine had burst and could not be remade. I sat there, leaned back and completely dazed yet desperately trying to wake myself up and get back into things. My best friend had seemed concerned and noticed my blurred out state – I remember as the group would walk in a hectic format she would always look back to find me right behind which would have me crack open a unconvincing smile. Everytime, she would interlock arms with me as she skipped alogn and continued singing nonsense lyrics together with candy and wine. It pained me to have seen her so desperate, because someone as incredible as her should never have had to attempt any form of emotional compensation. Even if the words were not spoken she let me know that it was okay for me to not be in the bubble and slip away into the blur and I decided that she would never have to show those crying coloures to me ever again.
I left early that night feeling depressed over the pealed layers that had revealed such an odd display of characters. I personally found the chameleon skin that night looking horrid and could not find a way to change my own skin for them. These interactions always envokes the question of what is play and what is real. Is there truly a way to judge identity and authenticity or maybe it is more like a DJ set with hundreds of diles that can be adjusted to circumstance completely natrually. After that night I realised that I did not like myself in combination with them, which had me involentarly erase myself and view the world as an unconnected spectator. All my life I have villainised the blurred phenomena and called it a ”buzzkill” or ”antisocial” as it was ripping away opportunities by ripping myself away. With that being said, maybe my conception was at vault and really it was an alternative to the regressed and undesirable state that would have been present if not for the illusion of drift and dehumanising myself. This was, after all, the first in a long time that I have experienced the blur and it has also been the first time in a long time where I had felt socially unwell.
If you have had any similar experiences or have any thoughts on this discussion I would love to read your own thoughts and input!
