The previous post is scary enough that not even I want to read it.
I often find that I feel like the sidekick character in a movie. My happiness is secondary to the main plot.
I've lived a lie for so long, and all it's done is hurt the people around me, given them false perceptions. To crawl so far into myself so that I lose my identity, just to protect myself is truly saddening.
Which is coincidental, I feel the pain of others so easily that I've numbed myself to my own pain, and theirs, and everything, really.
People, friends, family, they don't know me, because I barely know me. I've hidden what I really feel, in favor of feeling nothing at all. But the truth is, there's more to the world than pain, I just have to find someone who can reciprocate feelings with me properly. Happiness in my life would only beget more happiness, and it's exactly what I am, what I want and what I've needed for years and years. For some reason, I just never realized it fully.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Smashing the opponent...
Is it better to suffer quietly the indignation of our own hearts and minds than to voice our tribulations loudly, even if the body will not be comforted by such screams?
Screaming alone in the forest of the world, surrounded by trees with no cures for our wounds will no sooner heal us than simply remaining silent.
And yet, why are we compelled to question the silence of our pain. As if it would somehow relieve the sting of the cuts and gashes, we contemplate the possibility like a child, fearing that perhaps in our fervor, we would simply open these wounds further, spilling our lives and blood and tears onto the cold, unforgiving forest floor.
Perhaps we hear the cries of others, far out of reach, and choose to cry back, hoping to comfort each other with what little semblance of sanity each of us has left. But as we hear the cries, we may find they only remind us of our own handicap, and so the cries become more shrill, and more frightening.
I often curse my face for having lips, as they merely provide me with a means to further my own wounds. Would that I was born without them, for having the option to use them is simply too great a responsibility for a soul such as myself. My mind works against itself in a struggle that occurs constantly. As if one half were laughing at the other, every word is full of regret, and every unspoken syllable a lavish thought, aborted before it can begin. The though of saying, and the thought of not saying spiral endlessly until words and thoughts become hated so much that silencing the mouth is not enough to quell the tremors of my mind. Paranoia is a powerful motivator, but true fear will drive one insane.
Screaming alone in the forest of the world, surrounded by trees with no cures for our wounds will no sooner heal us than simply remaining silent.
And yet, why are we compelled to question the silence of our pain. As if it would somehow relieve the sting of the cuts and gashes, we contemplate the possibility like a child, fearing that perhaps in our fervor, we would simply open these wounds further, spilling our lives and blood and tears onto the cold, unforgiving forest floor.
Perhaps we hear the cries of others, far out of reach, and choose to cry back, hoping to comfort each other with what little semblance of sanity each of us has left. But as we hear the cries, we may find they only remind us of our own handicap, and so the cries become more shrill, and more frightening.
I often curse my face for having lips, as they merely provide me with a means to further my own wounds. Would that I was born without them, for having the option to use them is simply too great a responsibility for a soul such as myself. My mind works against itself in a struggle that occurs constantly. As if one half were laughing at the other, every word is full of regret, and every unspoken syllable a lavish thought, aborted before it can begin. The though of saying, and the thought of not saying spiral endlessly until words and thoughts become hated so much that silencing the mouth is not enough to quell the tremors of my mind. Paranoia is a powerful motivator, but true fear will drive one insane.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Night at the Roxbury
I've got all sorts of crazy thoughts in my head.
I've come to some realizations, and in the end, they're really quite depressing.
Getting really drunk on Saturday opened my eyes to some things, and now some changes are going to be made...
But something tells me that even if I can make changes, and turn my life around, what's really important to me is still going to be completely out of reach.
I've come to some realizations, and in the end, they're really quite depressing.
Getting really drunk on Saturday opened my eyes to some things, and now some changes are going to be made...
But something tells me that even if I can make changes, and turn my life around, what's really important to me is still going to be completely out of reach.
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