Freed
Mixed. A flammable cocktail of generally conflicted feelings. I wish didn't have the guts to blurt out to the whole PW group about how unsatisfactory the group was to me and how upset I felt for days. It could be superficial even though it was not. I could pretend it was, and on hindsight it would be best if I had continued like I was assuming everything ran as smoothly as a newly-oiled hinge, or tried to iron out the kinks without the unnecessary drama all centered on me. Now it seems as if I have lost even my nicest of dispositions, and the group would no longer feel the same, all because of one careless slip of a temper that could never be repaired. A separation, a patch of skin scattered with scars.
Shields up. I sensed that we have all become wary after my 'confession', though I had let that be carried across with as much tact and logic as possible. (There should be a grammatical error with this sentence but I don't know how to fix this.) Simply put: I would rather let everyone involved realise it would never be okay to get by without doing work. Frankly all my sentiments had centered on a single individual so often I am starting to wonder if I am behaving in a prejudiced fashion, and today when once again our minds came together (with crawling progress) it was, apart from a few points, as if she had been scattered dust, the winde beneath the turning fans. In a word: here but not here. It riled me up, but owing that I was just beginning to feel the reality of my outburst sinking in like many ice-tipped nails, I did something I knew I would.
I kept quiet.
This projects, and things I have dangling on my hands might drive me up the wall. The shortened past week I have been drained, bogged down with more than my fair share of responsibilities. My inability to trust has led to me hoarding everything most important to me with only one rational decision (that is slowly joining the ranks of the illogical) which is 'at least we would have something that wasn't screwed up at the end'. How do I loosen these possessive, self-destructive hands, or coax my own self out of the black hole I have created, when I have no reason to do so, when the people around me at times do not contradict my theories? It is like attempting to save a sinking ship single0handedly with an oar: utterly foolish and overambitious. These days the same question resounds in my head on drowsy nights confronted with more than demons: was I right to choose this?
I say, yes.
And now why does love, or any other overwhelming emotion, consume some people that their words have been bestowed riddle-like sentence structures? I no longer dwell on the fact that we are different, as every man who attempts to veer down an unfamiliar route in an attempt to break the monotony and rebuff conformity merely 'embraces another well-written script' (Bruce, Steve. Sociology: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press, February 2004), at least, sociology tells me so, and I believe these writers have more reason why they own a PhD. It is a paradox: when each thinks of ourselves as a unique entity yet deep down we think of another as simplistic and less complex. I suppose perspective matters; to each our own genetic mutations and base pair sequences, but ultimately the thought processes, assumptions and impulses that characterise the people as, well, people: how different could that be? I believe we have all thought we are different, but we've never thought differently.