10:14 a.m., Wednesday, 7 January
2015
Frozen.
My pen sits
at the face of this of this page and I freeze.
I’m frozen.
I’m mentally leaking uncontrollably with thoughts, ideas, emotions and I can’t put a single fucking
one down.
I write
shit. I am shit.
Wait, I
didn’t actually mean to think that; it just slipped out. Half the time, I do
feel like it though. Like when I mean to write something, and I freeze. Like
now – right now.
Froze.
I’m frozen
again.
Why can’t I
simply put one indispensable thought out there; I just might have something
worth reading. Ah, here’s one:
Ever felt
like you took up too much space in an empty room… Or breathed in too much free
oxygen… Or were the accidental elephant in the room? Ever felt like you’d much
rather be invisible? Not in an
I-should-die-right-now-and-cease-to-exist-any-longer kind of way, but in an (…
there I go, thinking too hard again)… in an I-want-to-be-seen-and-heard-only-when-it’s-necessary
type of way. Like acknowledging the intriguing painting on the wall that’s gone
a little skew and needs your attention just to be corrected. But I don’t always
feel that way, which is strange for a Leo, I know. Sometimes, I feign to busk as the
centre of attention in many a public area. I feel the need to make it known
that there’s more to this isolated damsel than the paralysing shyness that usually plagues her. I want to be acknowledged without being seen and invisible without
being ignored. Makes sense? Sure it does – at least in my mind’s part of the
world.
My love and
fear of people has always shared a strange and complex relationship. As much as
they intrigue me and easily win my adoration and empathy, I fear their
need for constant social interaction, consistent support and undivided
attention. Don’t misinterpret what I am saying; what I mean is, as much as I am
a loving, caring, friendly, affectionate human being who enjoys the company of
people, all their differences and entertaining them, for the most part, I enjoy
being alone. In my own space. With my own thoughts. Yes, this largely
contributes to my usually overbearingly obvious social inadequacies when I am
in small, and dreadfully large groups of people. It’s something I try to change
and conceal every now and then, but I’m not convinced I have to anymore. How
much of a tsunami is it if I consciously choose to love people wholeheartedly,
from a distance? Am I being ridiculous for wanting to keep me to myself and a
select few? Could I be obnoxious for not letting ‘my true self’ shine through
for everyone, every day, instead of just a select few close companions? But
then, what if my true self is a quiet
person who prefers to have her talents and skills do all the talking; what if
she naturally doesn’t feel the need to voice her opinions verbally ever so
often? What if at times – if not in most instances, she’d rather not have an
opinion? What if she doesn’t want to feel the need to care, or feel guilty, or
responsible for ‘holding back?' I don’t want to always feel this obsessively
compulsive in my life, but what if it works for me? What if, to a certain
extent, my paranoia is a cure for the imputed reality I try desperately hard to escape
daily? As much as I try to keep ‘normal’, I’m pathetic at reality – boy, if you
could see the reality distortion field I’ve managed to get myself caught in… It’s
insane.
But I love
it.
Apart from addressing the daily struggles of who I am, what fulfills me and where I want to be, I struggle to accept my assigned place in the world. Maybe these are just the not-so-important challenges of being young. Maybe I could be more at ease if I stopped insisting on trying to change the axis of the world; on being an irregular inconsistency in society's book. But that's as foreign to me as flying dicks. Oh, excuse me, have I not introduced you to the vulgarities of my complex personality? Well, grab a chair and a beer and feel free to make use of the melting ice that's left me unfozen. It's good to know there's working in this pen; I've come undone.
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