I'm a little tired of the fact that every damn thing gets under my skin.
I'm wasting time right now because I am feeling lonely and sad about mistakes I've made and illusions that have been shattered. Though an occasional cynic, I grew up an idealist. It hurts to have proof forced on me that there are very few people worthy of my trust and feelings. And yet I am always ready to again have hope that every friend I make is strong enough and enlightened enough to take on my utter openness and ability to love and expect a deep relationship.
I hate being so aware of the contingencies, the ramifications, the insinuations, and the hurts people experience but try to hide all in the name of appearing deft and confident. Damn this empathy. It merely serves to undermine my own confidence.
Elizabeth you know this, this terror of the wrong thing. The wrong moment, the wrong prescence, that momentary window to the perfect outcome. That chance for the perfect line, that perfect love, that perfect existance. That worthy moment. And knowing that you are not perfect and that no matter how hard you try, sometimes you will miss the window, and you just pray and pray that this time it won't be one. And in your deliberations about which path is the right one, the moment slips, the timing is gone, and all you are left with is this sudden pain and the inability to remove that moment from your memory, that tiny failure. Because although you know in your mind that the person who witnessed it is likely to forget it in a moment's time, part of you wonders if that wasn't the proverbial butterfly who causes the hurricane. That single point which could have set your path to a worthwhile existance.
God what drivel. I'm up far too late and I am quite aware of my caffienne low and the fact that mere hours ago I was cheerful and productive. But now I am alone, and my bed looks horrifically empty instead of soft and welcoming. Such fear of asking someone to share a little piece of life with you.
Such fear. Such pain. And yet this pain of loneliness is more.
If we go through our lives accumulating pain, how difficult it becomes to face each new moment with the joy it deserves. Can you taste it? Happiness. The more you have, the more you feel its absence. The more you hate the things that took it from you. The more time you waste on your past. Although you personally have the final say on whether or not you're capable of being happy at any moment, I find the power of the outside world and our accustomedness to it are enormous players. I wish I could just choose to be happy. But though I often delight in material things, that which truly brings me happiness is always and completely out of my control. And I hate it. This simultaneous addiction and resentment of people around me is the flaw that plagues me. It still never ceases to amaze me how many million people are alone. I know who I am. I've spent twenty years with myself. I don't know who you are and I could spend every moment of my time witnessing your existance. Seeing the world from your perspective. Those of you who have known me well or whom I have trusted may have observed my peculiar ability to comfortably attach myself to you for a few hours. No need to entertain me. I am content to absorb your presence, feel the change of the universe around the variable.
Why are we so afraid?
Oh. And don't just tolerate; embrace. For once in my life I'm starting to feel passionately about something. Homophobia is for neanderthals and losers. It is a sign of a sickness in a society, that it hates its own members. I should think that these people would spend their time hating people who actually do BAD things like kill and rape and hurt. But no, they spend all their energies hating on people who love. And not just hating and fearing but murdering and hurting. This makes me so very angry. Did you know that most states don't even have legislation protecting people from discrimination based on their sexual orientation, from jobs and housing... or anything? Sick. I think the number was only 14 that do. Makes me want to be a PKK all over again. But vigilanteeism rarely comes out well. Fuck. Time to do something else.
Perhaps I can convince myself to sleep. But I'm almost not willing to give up on this day, hoping that it will bring a great surprise or experience. But those days are behind me for the moment, and I must try to be content with the norm. Hell I should be grateful the slings and arrows have slackened in their fervor and relish this chance I have of getting securely away from the slippery slope to the bottom. But such is not my character.
However, I am finally getting sleepy.
Good night
And maybe, for my sake, try to be a little fearless, and live.
