Cold
Cold depresses me beyond all reasonable belief. When I was over at Shumiti's and Meagan, Patricia, Danny and I were all harmonizing (badly, mind you) on the first act of Rent, [we actually started with Tune Up and managed to get all the way through to Christmas Bells! Go us!] then I was happy. I was warm, I was with friends whom I don't get to see frequently, no one cared that I sang in thirds because we were all happy and high on caffeine and everything was good. Now I find myself at home, shivering in front of a computer in the coldest room in the house, and I wonder, as I so often do, why I seem to be depressed beyond all reasonable belief.
Perhaps it is as kellibus says, and I am a wildly swinging pendulum when I come to my moods, and almost certainly this is no small part of my overall problem. Perhaps it is as I have seen it, that I am paranoid and jealous beyond belief, irreparable flaws stemming from my basic neediness and inadequacy. Perhaps it is as cette_vie seems to see it, that I become obsessed to easily and allow my obsession to rule me. Perhaps it is as alliensis has said, that I both hate and love the people I am around. Perhaps it is as my mother has so often implied, that all my faults stem from my basic immaturity and imperfection.
I do not know why these flaws would contribute to my depression, but I look inside of myself, and they are all that I see. Somehow, alliensis can take his faults and make them noble. cette_vie can take her flaws and make them transcend their superficiality and make them poetic. swirlycurlzz can make her doubts and complaints and make them beautiful. kellibus is so busy being the comforter that the rest of overlook her flaws and faults, if she even has any. Yiting is perfect. Mingjian is superior. Veronica is emotionally scarred and must be treated as a glass doll. I look at myself. eala's faults and flaws (o so many) are just that. Flaws. Imperfect. Ugly. The product of an imperfect, ugly heart and mind, bitter and heavy with gall. I must spread my poison over many, turning my self-hatred into jealousy for others, less flawed, for if were all directed on myself, my wrists would have been touched with razorblade kisses many, many, many times over. And instead, I direct the hate on others, so undeserving, so utterly, utterly undeserving: others whose only crime, it seems, was to love and be loved. Don't tell others you care, alliensis once said, just care. For if I told anyone I cared, anyone at all, then I could not turn that love into hate, however temporary, and I have realized, so many times, that hate is an easier emotion for my heart to handle than love. It is easier to define my love in terms of hate than in terms of caring.
So this post, despite its self-pitying, whining tone, is, I suppose, dedicated to friends I have hurt, both unintentionally and to give myself an ego boost. I don't expect them to read this. After all, if I don't have my secret care, who am I? I'm not sure I'm ready to redefine my life that drastically yet.
I love you all, though I could never tell any of you.
eala
Perhaps eala really does mean "alas" in gaelic. My subconscious is infinitely more clever than I.
Perhaps it is as kellibus says, and I am a wildly swinging pendulum when I come to my moods, and almost certainly this is no small part of my overall problem. Perhaps it is as I have seen it, that I am paranoid and jealous beyond belief, irreparable flaws stemming from my basic neediness and inadequacy. Perhaps it is as cette_vie seems to see it, that I become obsessed to easily and allow my obsession to rule me. Perhaps it is as alliensis has said, that I both hate and love the people I am around. Perhaps it is as my mother has so often implied, that all my faults stem from my basic immaturity and imperfection.
I do not know why these flaws would contribute to my depression, but I look inside of myself, and they are all that I see. Somehow, alliensis can take his faults and make them noble. cette_vie can take her flaws and make them transcend their superficiality and make them poetic. swirlycurlzz can make her doubts and complaints and make them beautiful. kellibus is so busy being the comforter that the rest of overlook her flaws and faults, if she even has any. Yiting is perfect. Mingjian is superior. Veronica is emotionally scarred and must be treated as a glass doll. I look at myself. eala's faults and flaws (o so many) are just that. Flaws. Imperfect. Ugly. The product of an imperfect, ugly heart and mind, bitter and heavy with gall. I must spread my poison over many, turning my self-hatred into jealousy for others, less flawed, for if were all directed on myself, my wrists would have been touched with razorblade kisses many, many, many times over. And instead, I direct the hate on others, so undeserving, so utterly, utterly undeserving: others whose only crime, it seems, was to love and be loved. Don't tell others you care, alliensis once said, just care. For if I told anyone I cared, anyone at all, then I could not turn that love into hate, however temporary, and I have realized, so many times, that hate is an easier emotion for my heart to handle than love. It is easier to define my love in terms of hate than in terms of caring.
So this post, despite its self-pitying, whining tone, is, I suppose, dedicated to friends I have hurt, both unintentionally and to give myself an ego boost. I don't expect them to read this. After all, if I don't have my secret care, who am I? I'm not sure I'm ready to redefine my life that drastically yet.
I love you all, though I could never tell any of you.
eala
Perhaps eala really does mean "alas" in gaelic. My subconscious is infinitely more clever than I.