I write random shit when I'm happy, sad, or pissed off, but rarely when I'm bored. When I'm bored, I rarely do what I need to and once I am, that is when I want to write. Stupid fucking vicious cycle. Yet I try and save everything I write even if it seems melodramatic and ridiculous in hindsight, and reading it later is satisfying and greatly unsettling at the same time. Mostly, I write when I'm sad or angry and they are the most entertaining. I feel better though reading them and realizing that I'm no longer in that place.
And then I wonder why I always expect to return.
Letting myself be happy is a struggle, probably because I was conditioned to question love, affection, and loyalty from anyone. Years later I am better with this in female relationships, but with men? I'm a late bloomer so to speak, and need to remember how I got past it before. The problem is I don't remember. A basic "calm-the-fuck-down" suggestion is not only unhelpful but counterproductive. The more I calm down the less I consider what I am doing. Going with the flow cannot be my MO to a certain extent.
When you have to relearn basic social skills in your early teens, resorting to what feels right and comfortable is usually damaging; it has been for me in the past. Making the conscious decision to trust and let your guard down is one thing. Making yourself believe that not everything will inevitably turn to shit is another.
I sometimes wish there was someone who actually understood this or went through this who could explain to me what I need to do. I've made it this far on my own, but the solo journey is a lonely one. I'm tired of losing people. I'm tired of being tired. I want somebody to make me feel special because I’m tired of having to do that on my own. Won’t someone else carry me, just this once? (<--the last four sentences were taken directly from some of my melodramatic writing, but...nope, just sounds weird).
I guess the point of this post is to say that right now as I sit here in my sorority house (and for this past week), I am "happy." The word is in quotations because I don't want to jump to it too quickly. Am I happy? I think I am, my heart is floating and my cheeks hurt from smiling. I feel focused on my school work (if you count still needing to write a paper for Thursday, do Latin parsing/translation and read two stories for tomorrow, and read the play for my monologue as focused...) and am trying to stay connected with friends.
The main source of happiness at the moment is thanks to one of my friends setting me up on a blind date. I've only known him for a week, but my new boyfriend definitely makes me smile. I'm trying to look at this as the fates turning in my direction as they have been for the last year or so. Maybe I should stop thinking too much, or at least find some sort of balance between relaxing and freaking the fuck out. Everyone's different--for me that seems to be an understatement--and I think that's what's best for me.
Who the hell knows, really; I tend to live in a world of learning by doing. I'm the kid that would have to burn her hand on the stove to make sure it was hot even if her mom told her it was on. You learn more about yourself that way, or at least that's what I tell myself to sound less insane. I'm excited for my dad to come visit me for dad's weekend in two weeks and I hope having him around will remind me of whatever it is I need to remember. His awkward humor, insight, and unwavering support has been my saving grace through much of my life. Besides, as always, I have plenty of stories to share with him...and of course I could use a trip to the mall.