If you find me interesting or consider me a friend, please read.
Right now I'm trying to decide if I'm upset to the point of being nauceous, or just having a neurotic insomnia moment. Upon further reflection, I get the feeling it's a lot of both, and a few other things drilling through my psyche at the moment.
I keep bringing myself to the point of some violent, explosive catharsis... then something stops me. It's been stopping me every time lately. It's kept me from calling people, from extending those feelers out to those whom I care about, or even those whom I become interested in.
I don't know... even now I feel resistance to share even with myself. How odd is that? It's like another thought process lives an inch below my skin. It's like closing your eyes and trying to feel your heart beating in your chest.
I'm not a nonchalant person. Things affect me, and they affect me deeply, especially when my guard can finally drop. Things... sink to the core of my persona sometimes, and I'm left wondering: have people come to know me too well, too soon? Should I have rationed myself out, somehow? When I begin to feel safe around someone, and really let them into who I am, I know that I stop maintaining so many of the civlized ruses which for others are so reflexive. I'm a tad crass, perhaps even too forward to reflect what I feel to be a genuinely gentle nature; yet I only act that way when I feel like I can pull off the kit gloves and really mentally contact people.
Some days I wonder if those gloves ever come off for some people, or what it would take to maintain my life the way others maintain theirs. Frankly, I don't think I really understand. If I could, I would strip away the last shreds of subtlety from myself and truly lay it out there, on the line; Lord knows I try.
I keep playing events over and over in my mind, looking for a mistake or a pattern, something to serve as the crux of the argument, the central event or series of events which leads to the downfall of love, friendship, respect, interaction, civility, whathaveyou.
What ends emotion? What stimuli terminate one's bonds with another?
This shit really does haunt me on nights like these. I don't know why I watch in utter horror as I absorb my surroundings and experience those things in life to which we are to be accustomed, the "bad shit that happens eventually" that causes my other friends to mope, drink, or compose.
I, for one, aren't up for anything of that nature at the moment. I want to find that wall in my mind that prevents me from understanding the shit no one else cares about, and I want to throw my fist through it until every bone shatters. I know well enough to know that people are, in their own way, simplifiable. You watch someone's behaviours, you ask around, you paint a portrait with splashes of emotion, irrationality, and fragments of routines, patterns, predictable outcomes... and then you fall in love, or develop a profound respect, a deep friendship... and you watch the patterns repeat themselves, you listen to those around you who have suddenly become so wise, and they site their examples, recite the equations, and prove you wrong time and time again. You listen in abject horror, because you know they are right.
But you don't give a shit, at least not if you're me. You argue with those bigheaded fucks that think they're so bright, even as they prove you stupid. At best naive, at worst horribly blind, you somehow beg the ether for a turnaround, because the chance is there, however improbable, that your actions will speak louder than their words.
My problem right now is that I'm sitting here, impossibly awake and unnaturally alert. I've got people I should call, friends to spurn, an odd lover to scorn here and there. If I just forced it all out, shat my heart in a bucket and broke someone's nose with it, at least then I'd feel satisfied on some intrinsic level. Yet even as I write this, I realize how disproportionate my feelings are with the world around me. When I feel, I feel. It's hardwired into me, or so doctors tell me; I "simply can't help it" that when I'm emotive, I'm emotional, every time. I've got two modes: apathetic and disturbingly dedicated. Christ, if I haven't tried my damndest to find somewhere rational in the middle. I'm not even sure what "rational" means anymore. A and ~A don't apply when there's blood in the water.
So, once again, in an attempt to paint that portrait of myself, splash a few colours around, I'm left wanting. Logic fails again. The concerned friend is, in fact, me, telling myself (rightly!) that I'm being alternately terse and melancholy about the strange tidings of year of our lord two thousand and five, when in fact I should just lighten up, enjoy what I have, and Trust In The Force that everything's gon' be jus' fine.
But I'm not listening. That little voice in my head, the one everyone has, is the Human Universal Copout. It's the hive mind of humanity, the Inner Pissant that turns a dagger to the heart into a knife in the back. Fuck it.
There's some people who've hurt me who've got some explaining to do, and after they're done and I hit myself for making them tell me things I already know, I'll probably just punch that wall a few more times, feel the fractures accumulate, and have a little chuckle with myself. I'm never right, but it's more fun that way, and I'll be damned if I ever let myself be wrong. It's not stubborn so much as complete optimism wrapped tightly in unrequited angst.
Well, if I didn't say it there, expect a phonecall. And if I can't call you, I'm pretty darn sure you've got my number, and you have absolutely no excuse now. ♥
I keep bringing myself to the point of some violent, explosive catharsis... then something stops me. It's been stopping me every time lately. It's kept me from calling people, from extending those feelers out to those whom I care about, or even those whom I become interested in.
I don't know... even now I feel resistance to share even with myself. How odd is that? It's like another thought process lives an inch below my skin. It's like closing your eyes and trying to feel your heart beating in your chest.
I'm not a nonchalant person. Things affect me, and they affect me deeply, especially when my guard can finally drop. Things... sink to the core of my persona sometimes, and I'm left wondering: have people come to know me too well, too soon? Should I have rationed myself out, somehow? When I begin to feel safe around someone, and really let them into who I am, I know that I stop maintaining so many of the civlized ruses which for others are so reflexive. I'm a tad crass, perhaps even too forward to reflect what I feel to be a genuinely gentle nature; yet I only act that way when I feel like I can pull off the kit gloves and really mentally contact people.
Some days I wonder if those gloves ever come off for some people, or what it would take to maintain my life the way others maintain theirs. Frankly, I don't think I really understand. If I could, I would strip away the last shreds of subtlety from myself and truly lay it out there, on the line; Lord knows I try.
I keep playing events over and over in my mind, looking for a mistake or a pattern, something to serve as the crux of the argument, the central event or series of events which leads to the downfall of love, friendship, respect, interaction, civility, whathaveyou.
What ends emotion? What stimuli terminate one's bonds with another?
This shit really does haunt me on nights like these. I don't know why I watch in utter horror as I absorb my surroundings and experience those things in life to which we are to be accustomed, the "bad shit that happens eventually" that causes my other friends to mope, drink, or compose.
I, for one, aren't up for anything of that nature at the moment. I want to find that wall in my mind that prevents me from understanding the shit no one else cares about, and I want to throw my fist through it until every bone shatters. I know well enough to know that people are, in their own way, simplifiable. You watch someone's behaviours, you ask around, you paint a portrait with splashes of emotion, irrationality, and fragments of routines, patterns, predictable outcomes... and then you fall in love, or develop a profound respect, a deep friendship... and you watch the patterns repeat themselves, you listen to those around you who have suddenly become so wise, and they site their examples, recite the equations, and prove you wrong time and time again. You listen in abject horror, because you know they are right.
But you don't give a shit, at least not if you're me. You argue with those bigheaded fucks that think they're so bright, even as they prove you stupid. At best naive, at worst horribly blind, you somehow beg the ether for a turnaround, because the chance is there, however improbable, that your actions will speak louder than their words.
My problem right now is that I'm sitting here, impossibly awake and unnaturally alert. I've got people I should call, friends to spurn, an odd lover to scorn here and there. If I just forced it all out, shat my heart in a bucket and broke someone's nose with it, at least then I'd feel satisfied on some intrinsic level. Yet even as I write this, I realize how disproportionate my feelings are with the world around me. When I feel, I feel. It's hardwired into me, or so doctors tell me; I "simply can't help it" that when I'm emotive, I'm emotional, every time. I've got two modes: apathetic and disturbingly dedicated. Christ, if I haven't tried my damndest to find somewhere rational in the middle. I'm not even sure what "rational" means anymore. A and ~A don't apply when there's blood in the water.
So, once again, in an attempt to paint that portrait of myself, splash a few colours around, I'm left wanting. Logic fails again. The concerned friend is, in fact, me, telling myself (rightly!) that I'm being alternately terse and melancholy about the strange tidings of year of our lord two thousand and five, when in fact I should just lighten up, enjoy what I have, and Trust In The Force that everything's gon' be jus' fine.
But I'm not listening. That little voice in my head, the one everyone has, is the Human Universal Copout. It's the hive mind of humanity, the Inner Pissant that turns a dagger to the heart into a knife in the back. Fuck it.
There's some people who've hurt me who've got some explaining to do, and after they're done and I hit myself for making them tell me things I already know, I'll probably just punch that wall a few more times, feel the fractures accumulate, and have a little chuckle with myself. I'm never right, but it's more fun that way, and I'll be damned if I ever let myself be wrong. It's not stubborn so much as complete optimism wrapped tightly in unrequited angst.
Well, if I didn't say it there, expect a phonecall. And if I can't call you, I'm pretty darn sure you've got my number, and you have absolutely no excuse now. ♥