Monday, February 21, 2011


Don't know what I want to say...But I want to say it now. I like the way I feel when I write. There's a certain sadness in me now, a certain something I can't really explain that I feel after a long conversation ends when I don't want it to. I think I could go on forever in good conversation. It's probably one of my favorite things in the world. I want to be open with you like I am with some, and to be myself, my open, forward self, and talk to you about anything and everything because I do that, and I'm just not very private that way. You are far away now. I want to remember. Remembering is the thing I think I miss the most. There are so many things to remember, like the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, or the way it feels when you hold me. I can remember your voice. But it still makes my heart pound to hear it on the other end of the line after so long, more than a year, of just hearing recordings or reading letters or writing you emails, to hear it directly and know you are there. I can't talk because my heart is blocking my throat. I need to swallow it again so I can verbalize anything. So many times, words aren't what's necessary to express things. With you, I express things through touching you, or looking at you. I know how your heart works. It's different than mine in many ways, perhaps more trusting and open, easygoing around people and childlike in the right ways. I sometimes need to take things down a notch and stop trying to do everything myself. I feel nothing so much of the time that when I feel anything strongly it is scary. My emotions are like sunlight on a cold day...They are warm but not intense. I feel things, and I feel them deeply, but I don't feel them intensely. I have shields. When they come down, it's hard to take. I don't think I could feel my family's pain. I think I am a conduit for so many because I take their pain and I find ways to make it go away whenever I can or I understand it and listen to them and know who they are inside. I can't deal with my own pain, which perhaps is why I don't have it much. I'm not built that way. It doesn't work. Regina Spektor songs are expressing my words for me. I feel this way. Words don't work, so much of the time. I can say so much with a look or a smile, or a hug or a back rub, or a gesture. I don't worry about things until they happen. I don't feel guilty about things that aren't my fault. I am different. Noone is quite like me. I have the ability to understand things that are detrimental and cause sorrow and pain. But I don't feel the pain myself, usually. Though I have. Gut-wrenching, terrifying pain that makes me feel like my heart is ripping apart inside me and ripping me apart, too, and all I want is to hold it together. My heart has not broken. It has shredded. And now it is whole, as it usually is, but I have dealt with pain. This is me. And you are not mine right now. You are His. It is ok. But I want to be His, too. I am trying and working. I don't understand hate. I can handle a lot, but I don't think I could handle pure hatred. It is not something that I can comprehend, or want to comprehend. It is hard for me to take. I need sleep. This is me baring my soul. Don't break it.

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