On Heartache.
The possibility of a blog entry that won't end in a prolix psychoanalysis of myself? For shame!
The past few days have been quite strange for me. I can't recall the last time an emotional roller coaster went on for this long. Last night I wrote an entry on my phone and attempted to post it, only to be told that the HTML failed or something or other. Part of me thinks that that was a good thing, since I always regret writing and/or posting things in the heat of the moment. Even though it was lost in the neverending winters of cyberspace, it was a nice release, if only for a moment. It was just something I couldn't let go, and it still lingers in my mind, if only emerging during a few select activities. But that's enough about vague, boring happenings and whatnot.
This strange feeling threatens to burst out of my chest into some sort of explosion of poetry and music and art and everything else, yet I can't seem to release it just yet. I want it to sit inside of me for a while, because it's nice to finally feel something strong and alive inside of me. For the past few days I haven't had the need for fictional wangst inside my head (for those who know what I'm talking about). I'm just so happy that there is something inside of me, even if I can't exactly give that feeling a name. It hurts my heart, makes me want to cry, but at the same time gives me so much happiness that nothing else can provide. I suppose it could be summed up in the phrase "bittersweet". I feel like for the past few days I've been continually losing myself, finding myself, losing myself again, finding some new parts of myself that I'm scared to embrace. Hating myself for what I can't be and suddenly loving myself for what I am. Never before had I found such meaning in the cliché metaphor “in the birdcage”. My heart feels like it’s beating against steel rails, crying out to me in some foreign language, trying to tell me something, maybe warn me of something, but I just can’t listen to it right now. I just can’t. I’m too busy dancing in a little world inside my head that I never knew existed, and I’m waiting for the moment when I’ll regret not listening to it. I’m waiting for the eventual hour where the world will fall away and I’ll be trapped in a neverending abyss. And that darkness won’t feel nearly as sweet as the oblivious one I’m falling into right now.
I probably sound like I’m on drugs.
And all the while, above all else, I need something. Someone. This need is what fundamentally builds the foundation of my heartache, and I don’t know what to do with it. Write poetry, lyrics, short stories? No. I would never know where to begin, and I don’t know if I want to begin. Because it’s not that I need someone. It’s that I need them to need me. I need them to need me above all others, to place me on a pedestal, to tell me that I’m more important to them than anyone else in the world. I want to be on their mind all the time, me and me only. And I don’t want anyone else to want them, or for them to want anyone else. It only sends me into a blind rage where I need to crank up hysterical music and throw things around my room until I collapse on the floor in the fetal position.
I’m terribly conceited, jealous, needy, presumptuous and weak. And I want them to love that too, so I won’t have to feel so bad about it anymore.
I’m going to be a terrible significant other.
Anyway, that seems to be that. Have a nice night.
Maybe I'll upload photos tomorrow.