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.

(via snip-snap-beep.blogspot.com)