Mar 02, 2015 04:08
And yet.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to be the one who ends up committing suicide. Being so optimistic can be so isolating. It makes me wonder if that's why so many people lose their idealism.
Still, I march on.
I cannot, I will not let my flame go out.
Maybe I'm actually bipolar.
The rapid cycling type.
I swear, within the last hour I've been super happy and ecstatic with lots of white and rainbows, excited for all the good that I can do and all the great things I can experiences while in this world... to sad and blue-grey-black, comforted by the thought that I know I am not the only one drowning in this melancholy.
Or maybe I'm just a contradiction, a hypocrisy.
A ghost.
Nothing.
Or is this what being a true human is all about? Full of changing emotions. And that I simply must accept the ebb and flow of my waves.
It's what keeps me afloat during my low points... impermanence. That there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel. A constant oscillation of sinking and rising up again.
It's not like I have a stable identity anyway. I never know who I am. Perhaps because my identity is rooted in my feelings.
Never having any solid part of me to ground myself to, I am so capricious.
Chaotic.
Colorful.
Messy.
Wild.
I am a feather floating on a never-ending breeze
A maelstrom.
Yet something must stay the same. Some essence of "Hillary" remains, the girl who continues to feel intensely, both positive and negative emotions. The one who always has emotional depth and self-awareness. The one who can never stop reflecting. The one whose heart is overflowing with love, exploding with joy.
The Romantic Idealist.
I remember being in elementary school and always isolating myself in my room for hours after school. So I could just think. About life, the books I was reading, my dreams, everything. My imagination, richly active and complex.
But if more than anything, whatever it is that I am and have been... is real.
I am fierce
and free