Saturday, February 15, 2014
The night is dark and full of terrors
I last blogged in 2012. Wow, it's been that long, huh?
The silence of the night is frightfully lonely. I guess that's when people feel most like they need someone. And I'm human too. As much as I tend to shun physical contact and affection, just having someone, even if no words are shared, feels like it would be really comforting now.
Sitting on a bench in a park, listening to the sound of the wind and traffic. Just knowing and sharing the solace of company. It sounds like a laughable ideal, something out of a artfully-shot movie scene or fluffy romance novel. Fingers barely touching. breaths mingling in cold air...
The thoughts are just coming randomly, and I'm not bothering to sort through them. It's just an endless train-of-thought stream of words.
I really hate feeling this way. Like I can't control my emotions and what they make me do. Part of me just wants to shed off these useless feelings and go on with my life, but part of it hangs on to the pain and anguish, I know not why. As if that part of me relishes the feeling of being torn up and destroyed, as if it cannot get enough, clamouring for more. I guess this is how pain makes you feel alive, because I want so much for this to go away, I don't think I would give up life for that.
Feelings make you do stupid things. There are so many things I would have done differently if I didn't succumb to my feelings. I'm soft, I give in, I let down my guard, and suffer all the more for it. At the same time, I'm hurting the people around me in that ridiculous way I always do. Burning myself up to try to add some light to their world even though they will probably never know or notice, never give a thought, and heaven forbid if they did and pulled away from me, leaving me burning all by my lonesome self.
Part of me is satisfied this way. I don't need reciprocation; contentment comes from knowing that you are happy. And maybe someday someone will enter my life who does that for me as well.
That song from The Sound of Music: "Nothing comes from nothing / Nothing ever could / So somewhere in my youth or childhood / I must have done something good"
You would say, that's such a passive aggressive way of living, and you're perfectly right. I am nothing if not passive aggressive, always giving in but fiercely and with barbs galore, hurting people who don't know me better. How could I let these strangers into my life when my heart flutters so freely and without control, without logic? Surely all would crumble into nothing once those defences are down, surely I would be left with nothing. Cynicism is my protection, reticence my shield. Don't come into my world, but if you listen very carefully, you can hear that tiny voice pleading for someone to break through and find the cursed princess locked in the tower at the centre of the haunted forest.
I often think how huge a joke it is, how people would laugh incredulously if only they knew that one of my accomplishments is borne out of such an emotional tanglement, out of the blind one-sided drive to do something for that someone, no matter the cost. A devoted dog foolishly and lovingly giving its all to its master without asking for anything in return. Of course, it was never the one and only reason, but I cannot deny that a healthy (or unhealthy) amount of this contributed. If you ask me if all my effort was worth it, I would say it depends on how you measure the worth of something. To me, it was worth it, even if I got nothing in return. Look how it changed my world without me intending it, not that I gain much pride or delight in it. How I would give a hundred thanks from a hundred strangers to one word of acceptance from you. But that is as it is, and I don't begrudge anyone for anything.
Perhaps it is because this is my way of showing love. Placing things that are important to me at your feet even if they are but dirty, useless bones to you. What else do I have to give?
So, hopefully, as I continue to grow (older), I will get wiser and stop doing stupid things, though it doesn't seem as if I have learnt much. Every now and again the same thing happens; history repeats itself. It is happening even now, even today. I want to slap myself awake but the part of me that jumps in delight refuses to release me from this waking dream. No, not a dream; a delusion.
Deluded, I continue, stumbling but intoxicated with the ambrosia of my own making. Will someone take my hand and lead me to the light, to a place which is not a fantasy but truth, which may not be as beautiful but possesses its own warmth and comfort?
Okay enough muddled emo ramblings for one night.
Avaris / 2/15/2014 11:51:00 PM
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