I take myself to the movies more than I used to, because until recently I had someone to go with. When I lived in Indianapolis I took myself to the movies, because I didn’t have anyone to go with. I like going to the movies alone. It forces me to stop making quips or to over-analyze and judge.
This weekend I saw “Ant-Man” and “Trainwreck.” “Ant-Man” was a fun romp. End critique.
“Trainwreck” destroyed me. (I’ll do my best to avoid spoilers). When I got to the theater I ran into my friends Katie and Taylor. They invited me to sit with them, which was super generous. I warned them though. “I’m apologizing now. I am going to cry.” You may remember I cried through “Bridesmaids” too. But “Bridesmaids” didn’t do what “Trainwreck” did.
While “Bridesmaids” was a series of sketches strung together with a relative storyline, “Trainwreck” is brilliantly thought out. I loved this movie. That’s important to remember. Largely, I knew I would cry, because I, right now, am a trainwreck. I am. I knew it would be too relateable. It related all over my face.
In a way that the over-abundance of sex in largely male-driven comedies is the joke, sex in this was device. Drinking was a device. Just a piece of the puzzle. That’s not the part that I found relateable, to be clear. What resonated so much with me was this concept that so much of Amy’s life in the movie is pretty together. Good paying, if not smarmy, job. Steady relationship with “beefcakey” guy. But everything around and in Amy is falling apart. I think we can all understand that to a degree, but until you’ve found yourself faking everything. Every smile, every quick-witted retort, every laugh. Until you find yourself surrounded primarily by people who find you entertaining and useful, instead of deeply invested in your well-being, you just can’t know.
My walls are thick. I started to break them down, but last night, like many nights, I realized how much I have let them build back up. I know because I cried naked in an empty bathtub for two hours. I know because my cat threw shade at me when I moved the cry party to my bed. I’m not okay, but I’m going to keep putting that front up. I’m going to keep seeming fine to people who don’t care about me. I’m going to keep smiling and laughing, when inside I’m throwing up.
Not because someone instilled in me the idea that “monogamy isn’t realistic,” but because I’ve learned that the more I let people in on the truth the more they run away from me. Spin if it you want to, I know who my real friends are. But the truth is it’d be nice, living alone and single in the city, to just have a bunch of casual buds who I feel safe with.
(I apologize that this is so chaotically written)
There are several points throughout the movie where pressure is placed on Amy. Now that she’s found Aaron, she can start the fast track to kidstown. Some of us do want kids, some day, maybe. But there’s a low probability of that for me. So the moment that pressure is put on me I become a 23-year-old frat boy. “Whoa, bro. Nahhh. Yuck. Babies. Yuck.” Because it’s easier to pretend I don’t want it than to accept that I likely can’t have it. (in the traditional way) So far, the Church hasn’t helped me feel any better about that.
That when things get hard, it’s easier for me to just walk away. “This is the part where it gets hard and everything falls apart, let’s just speed this up.” If I never try, I can’t fail. It’s easier for me to promote and support the furthering success of those around me, than to make a damn move on my own and try. Because I’m going to fail. I’m going to fail hard, and I don’t know how much more of that I can take.
The point is. I am a trainwreck. I’ve never felt so understood by a movie in my life. But that doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make me feel any safer. It makes me feel understood, but it also terrifies me. I terrify me, and I’ve seen myself terrify those around me.