I'm sad. It's the strangest most lovely feeling.
I guess I really am broken, and this is part of the fixing.
I listen to this garbage electronic music, sitting alone, thinking about dancing in a club, closing my eyes or leaving them open and just seeing black and light and colors with flashes and feeling the thumping. Closing my eyes but I don't feel like I see any less unless I hit something-one.
It's Thursday - I could go out to exposure, I could go to apex or perhaps even town...
I'm sad. It feels good.
Job is better, and I’m doing well.
I have a boo (a sick boo) that makes me happy.
I'm doing neat stuff in the gym, feel strongish, confident. I'm nicer to people when I'm not scared.
I have pain I haven't take the time to feel.
When I drink there is this place, this feeling, there is stopping and feeling the warmth, enjoying the blur and letting my control go, quietly, when it's safe,
reflecting on things I like, pain I had that went away, the dreams I had that came true - that are true, the dreams I had that I absolutely live today, fantasies I never had when times were tougher now are wants received - taking those rare moments to feel them, oddly when I can't feel as much (is it feel or is it control?)
and there is pain I haven't ... well I've felt it, but I've pushed it down and pushed it aside, I've stayed positive, I've distracted, I've made myself tired, I've worked hard, I've focused,
and there is this pain that still patiently sits there, waiting. Who is waiting?
So I feel good enough to start feeling that pain again. Funny - it's beautiful. Is joy just pretty? If something feels so good it hurts...
I like this feeling but I'm hardly doing it justice with words. I'm feeling pain on purpose, alone, oddly happy, surprisingly secure, not terribly private about it either. I feel good enough, or it's been long enough, that I can revisit and feel pain. I know the things that hurt me, the experiences I had, the emotional impact (logical or no) but ... it's just a feeling. The origin may or may not be real, some is important while some is shameful that I ever cared at all - but this pain is free-floating, it may have an origin but that is lost - it has no home, no actual thought connected to it. It's just there, unaddressed, not processed.
I don't think I want to let it go. I've carried it for so long it's part of who I am and what I value.
I value pain.
I value pain.
So I'm still processing things, feeling pain in small controlled doses.
The reasons drift like cliché analogies against the edge of the feelings, whispers, fog, ghosts, clichés in a red room, eye-liner on a plain person's face, pretty shoes on boney feet, soft lips smelling of garlic,
No conclusion.
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