Dear Thiago, on becoming broken

Sometimes I come home from a long day, and you’re the person I want to talk to. I want to tell you my theories, even though you might not understand them. I don’t know why I do this.

When I’m with you, I don’t want to collapse and leave the world. It’s not an escape into each other for a little bit. It’s us looking at the world, together. You make it more glittery and exciting and interesting.

I was thinking about how this thing works—I was quite pleased with myself. People put too much pressure on you to do what they want. They want you to become something for them. And you try, but they get mad at you for not being what they wanted. And then you eventually break. And they don’t notice for a while, and still keep the pressure on you. But eventually with your complete failure to meet any expectations at all, they get the hint that something is wrong—you don’t respond when they push your buttons anymore—and they are confused why nothing happens when they push the buttons.

And so then they determine you are broken and start to treat you like a broken person. Now everybody around you who you tried to hard to please and impress thinks you’re broken.

I don’t know what this means. It means the incentives aren’t aligned somewhere.