Solutions and Other Problems

by Allie Brosh

And they go their whole lives like that. No answers, no context, no mercy.

And then you get to see what the worst part of you looks like.

It was the type of argument you can only have with people you’re really close to—people you know so well you start to forget they’re a different person from you, so it sort of feels like nobody can see you.

If you keep going, you’ll eventually realize that the one true answer to all your questions is: Of course it doesn’t make sense—what business do you have expecting things to make sense?

But we’ll never get to sort it out. And I’ll never get to say sorry. And I’ll never know why.

When you can explain things to people who are willing to listen to you explain them, it is extremely difficult to resist fully and brutally explaining them. It feels good to explain them—like maybe you’re getting somewhere. Like maybe, if you can just… really explain them, the experiences will realize you’re catching on and stop bothering you.

I wanted to really go into detail about how awkward death can be, and describe the lack of closure and how it always just sits there, and the guilt, and the regrets, and which crossing it was, and all my guesses for what her last thoughts might have been, and how I still have dreams about her, but she acts different now.

Sometimes all you can really do is keep moving and hope you end up somewhere that makes sense.

It is better to accept the utter futility of things as early as possible and save yourself the struggle.

Because nobody should have to feel like a pointless little weirdo alone.