park spar

In two hours, I'm supposed to ride my bike to the park to do some sparring. I'd really like to go, I plan on going, but goddammit, is it difficult. I haven't been on my bike in two years, for one thing. 

..and I realized I didn't have much more to say about it than that, and should probably start getting ready.

Now, five hours later, I can report that as soon as I was on my bike, I realized that I hadn't forgotten how to ride, my bike didn't fall apart, and I started feeling better about the whole thing. Still nervous, I pedaled along, there was no turning back. I was out the door and on my way, the most difficult part behind me.

I had a good time. I got to kick lots of people in the head. I love kicking people in the head. As usual, my fears turned out to be silly and baseless. I don't understand why it's always so hard. I write down what a good time I had, in the hopes that I'll remember next time. Maybe it gets easier eventually.

Now, I'm back in my lonely little cave. I'm exhausted, it's great to be out of the heat, put my feet up and not worry about anything.. but it's weird. Going to the park to hang out with people feels like pretending I'm a normal human being for a few hours, only to shamble back to my dismal lair, where I can dispense with such illusions.

Pretending to be human is so hard. I don't know that I could keep it up for more than a few hours at a time. Martial arts is my hack for being able to do that, but sometimes I think the humans might suspect something. Which concerns me, because when they suspect someone of being a mentally ill loner, they can go in all sorts of horrific directions with that.

There's this new guy at my gym, and as we sparred, I couldn't help but notice the hatchwork of old scars up and down his left forearm. Mine are similar, but much older. They're hardly noticeable at all any more. I wanted to say something, about how I might relate, but wasn't sure how that would go. I opted not to risk it and kept the conversation to kickboxing.

I don't know how much of my alienation just has to do with a life consumed by clinical depression, but when I see someone else's battle scars, I tend to think aha, maybe this is someone who might get it. Otherwise, I expect people to be patronizing, at best. Better they don't know anything about me at all.