Heartbreak and the Stuff Life is Made of.
DISCLAIMER: This is a drunken rant and an attempt to exorcise bad feelings.
I've always been hyper-sensitive. Anger and rage encouraged me to do callous things to other people since I was a kid but yet any wrong word in my direction gutted me and brought forth quick tears.
For the past several years I've moved from town to town numerous times, and have slowly but surely lost close friendships along the way. One close friendship I lost all together due to my harsh criticism of her to another friend. The agony of seeing yourself as a "nice person" being untrue is a foreign blow to the stomach. But it was time for me to stop being so damn naive. Over the years I became distant of almost everyone in my life, including my brothers whom I used to be able to say anything to.
At this state, it was fine. Depression evened out, I got off all medications except for whatever I needed for allergies. My social life dwindled down to almost nil. And I was alright with that.
But a queer thing happens when a person does that: your emotions deaden almost as if you were on an antidepressant. No new or familiar people around you to invoke power emotions with. Art and creativity is within you but it goes into coma at this time.
Now let's say you're in that situation: lost contact with most, and the people you are around you do not get close to, so there is no extreme negative or positive feeling you get throughout the day as you do what you do. However, you notice you do not cry at all, you laugh very rarely, and it takes a lot to muster the inspiration to masturbate on a regular basis, if at all.
Then you decide to become more socially active. You're around people again. At first you do not care too much but then after a short while, someone is carving themselves into your consciousness, aye, and then you start thinking about him/her and the humor and liveliness of that person inspires you. Hell, you want to CREATE for the first time in a long damn time. Warmth pumped through the veins and swells up the most intimate areas. It's excellent to be alive again.
Fantasies, thoughts dedicated to one another. Extreme highs, and certain love songs have automatic meanings again even though you know it is fucking ridiculous.
And then...nothing. No response. You're not important or in their focus anymore. So quick, so goddamn quick. Some people might bitch and moan and cry to others WHY WHY O WHY? And they might profess their life is ending, or some such thing.
But me? Fuck it hurts, hurts so damn bad. More so for a lady who nobody has ever loved in a significant way. Never fails to make a person wonder WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? But I say it's fine because I'd much rather feel this kind of hurt than to feel fucking---
--DEAD.
I've always been hyper-sensitive. Anger and rage encouraged me to do callous things to other people since I was a kid but yet any wrong word in my direction gutted me and brought forth quick tears.
For the past several years I've moved from town to town numerous times, and have slowly but surely lost close friendships along the way. One close friendship I lost all together due to my harsh criticism of her to another friend. The agony of seeing yourself as a "nice person" being untrue is a foreign blow to the stomach. But it was time for me to stop being so damn naive. Over the years I became distant of almost everyone in my life, including my brothers whom I used to be able to say anything to.
At this state, it was fine. Depression evened out, I got off all medications except for whatever I needed for allergies. My social life dwindled down to almost nil. And I was alright with that.
But a queer thing happens when a person does that: your emotions deaden almost as if you were on an antidepressant. No new or familiar people around you to invoke power emotions with. Art and creativity is within you but it goes into coma at this time.
Now let's say you're in that situation: lost contact with most, and the people you are around you do not get close to, so there is no extreme negative or positive feeling you get throughout the day as you do what you do. However, you notice you do not cry at all, you laugh very rarely, and it takes a lot to muster the inspiration to masturbate on a regular basis, if at all.
Then you decide to become more socially active. You're around people again. At first you do not care too much but then after a short while, someone is carving themselves into your consciousness, aye, and then you start thinking about him/her and the humor and liveliness of that person inspires you. Hell, you want to CREATE for the first time in a long damn time. Warmth pumped through the veins and swells up the most intimate areas. It's excellent to be alive again.
Fantasies, thoughts dedicated to one another. Extreme highs, and certain love songs have automatic meanings again even though you know it is fucking ridiculous.
And then...nothing. No response. You're not important or in their focus anymore. So quick, so goddamn quick. Some people might bitch and moan and cry to others WHY WHY O WHY? And they might profess their life is ending, or some such thing.
But me? Fuck it hurts, hurts so damn bad. More so for a lady who nobody has ever loved in a significant way. Never fails to make a person wonder WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? But I say it's fine because I'd much rather feel this kind of hurt than to feel fucking---
--DEAD.