I've been called crazy more times than pretty. Sometimes I feel pretty crazy, but I think what brings people to the "crazy" classification is that I'm just a completely open, honest book. I ask the questions I'm curious about, I answer your questions truthfully, and I say the things I'm thinking. Sometimes these are inappropriate, but I find that I'm completely comfortable with myself and the way I act; who I am. There are, however, some things that drain me that I just don't know if I should talk about: medical issues, unusual thoughts, and the never ending struggle to figure out why love just isn't enough.
My current unexplained loneliness has me questioning if there are some thoughts in my head that I shouldn't share with others. Are my feelings temporary insanity and therefore should be ignored and unexpressed? Or, perhaps, I'm feeling lonely because my unusual feelings are pushing people away? Either way, I'm in a rut and I self-evaluate to the point of insanity all too much. So, of course, here are my personal, pathetic, tid bits that are currently weighing on my soul.
-The other day I was nearly hit by a train on my bike. There was only one set of guard arms, and the sidewalk just turned into the train track without any warning. My senses were shaken as a result, because I was seriously only 30 seconds or so from being hit. I fell off my bike, skinned up my hand, and lost a bike like and my right shoe. What shook me more than the chance of being run over by a train was the fact that the initial thought in my mind was to not move at all. Before I thought about how I was going to get off my bike and scoot off the tracks, my crazy brain told me not to move, like getting hit by a train is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Cars started honking, my shoe got stuck on the peddle of my bike, and the only reason I felt compelled to move was imagining my poor dad's soul being crushed if I died.
-Sure, I will listen to my friends and try to remember that I wasn't happy in my last relationship, but I was devoted, committed, outrageously in love, and more than willing to put myself in the closet to try to please the person I wanted to be with; the person I still, sickly, want to be with. That sort of self-sacrifice never felt as bad to me as it should have, or does others. That sort of 'martyr for you' feeling always made me feel proud and pleased with my strong will.
-Do I just enjoy my own miserable company? It's the strangest feeling, because I can't, for the life of me, figure out what the benefit is. Why would I want to wallow and cry as much as I am? I know I'm in control of this, so why do I keep inflicting these feelings on myself? Self-deprecation is about as unattractive as a tear-stained face.
I need a distraction. Honestly, I'm busier than I would prefer. It feels like Thursdays are the only free days I have each week and my list of "to do's" is pages long. One of my favorite things to do during the week was taking bubble baths and staying in to watch a movie, but that gives me such terrible anxiety now. More than anything now, I want to be in the company of others until I fall asleep. Talking and gabbing with Lela and Julia until midnight on a Monday. I used to love waking up alone, and have told many pursuers that, but now I'd like to just wake up one morning with someone to cook breakfast for. Someone who's company I actually liked. Why have I let my pleasant desires change into a pathetic loneliness in me? I need someone fun to enjoy my company and distract me!
Ugh, well.... enough venting for one day. I'm off to play and would love to dance in the rain if someone could arrange that for me. Oh, and I will work intently on making my blogs, and myself, happier again. Nobody, including me, enjoys reading about self wallowing