I’ve been a ghost of sorts for the last couple of weeks. I breeze in, put in some work, and then disappear to sit on my ass and watch random movies at home.
I keep using some sort of illness as an excuse from going out. It isn’t an outright lie; I have been feeling physically out of sorts for a while, but I have also realized that I am purposely avoiding my new friends up here. There is far too much involved in building new relationships, and I lack the motivation for it. I sincerely enjoy the company of all the people I have met up here, and I am sure I can build upon the wonderful rapport I already have with them; I just feel much too tired most of the time. And they’re all such sweethearts for still trying to hang out with me. I don’t want to disappoint.
I want to feel things the way I used to just three years ago, when I still had the blessed ability to love and believe in something with all of my heart. My naïveté and blind faith have long since gone the way of the dinosaurs: destroyed in the blink of an eye, suffocated by something so disorienting and all-encompassing.
From recent conversations I have culled various snippets that, together, prove to me just how fragile I still am. It has also become more evident that it seems like this careful facade I’ve constructed may soon crumble. My conversations with people are laced with a certain insecurity that I am having trouble disguising. I am seeking some sort of validation, either of my very real fears, or of my silliness for having such fears.
I loathe such transparency in my everyday life, but I find myself more guilty of it each passing week.
This many years is far too long to remain so wary, far too long to keep my heart so guarded. And I want to break out of it and have faith in someone, or perhaps even some thing. This desire is so strong. I feel it in my bones. I feel it in the nerves in my teeth.
There was a time (it seems so long ago now) when I loved someone so much that I believed we could conquer anything, even our great differences. And I gave him everything in me.
He broke me, after he promised he never would.
I’ve been picking up the pieces since, even though I was stupid enough to stay with him for far longer than any sane woman would.
But I remember how it felt to love so passionately. And I still get chills, partly from the oodles of regret, but also partly from the memory of the simple joy of that love.
I’m starting to believe I may not feel that way ever again, despite the small number of my age. I also believe it will be my fault entirely for never allowing it again.
Lately I’ve been trying to convince myself that I will be fine. And again, because of my age, it is pretty much a certainty that I will be. I have just been feeling so disillusioned, trying to fit into a society, or a mindset, that I don’t find entirely comfortable in. I’ve been telling people of my profound distaste for the state of things, but at the same time I never feel strongly enough to take any action, big or small.
I am trying desperately to be the best person to my loved ones. I don’t want to show any ounce of fear or hesitation. Or, adversely, if I can’t help it, I want to prove that I can quickly bounce back from my doldrums. I want to be the evidence that one’s disposition toward a calamity or a hardship can really make all of the difference, yet sometimes I realize I am only cool as a cucumber because I don’t let the high emotions hit me at my core.
Hum. My lofty ideals and hefty expectations will likely screw me over more severely than any parent or man.
Gah. Sometimes I really dislike blogging. I can never keep my focus. I was feeling fairly down earlier, as you can see above, but now I merely feel drained and apathetic.
Sleep sounds like the best course of action. Good night.