The truth is, however, I just get inside my own head. Sometimes it is all sunshine and light
and fluffy bunnies…then the bunnies grow and multiply and start looking like
Gremlins. There are so many of
them, that they choke out the light, forcing me to seek shelter in an abandoned
house. This house is dark and
spooky. The floors are weak and
the walls crumbling. There are
noises in this house that cause me unrest, the sounds of incessant scratching
and howling. This house is not
safe. I do not like spending time
there.
I have been told in the past that I have the capability of
appearing aloof or distant, even cold.
I have always found this interesting as I have also been described as
warm, friendly and approachable.
The truth is, though, I am neither one nor the other. I am both. I am both out of necessity and in the best interest of
self-preservation. This is for the
very simple reason that, no matter my exterior, I feel things intensely. When those feelings get overwhelming, I
have to work that much harder to lock them down. I grin and bear it as best I can during the day—and end up
spending an angst-filled night (week/month/year) in the ol’ mental House of
Horrors.
I used to think that feeling this intensely was the hallmark
of a creative person. You know,
suffering for one’s art and all that.
Perhaps that is part of it, but
isn’t that giving creativity a bad rap?
Just because creative people can visualize 50 million different
scenarios and re-live them over and over (occasionally through positive outlets
such as theater, writing, painting, music, etc.) doesn’t mean they are all
plagued by overwhelming emotion—does it?
This seems to be more of a societal assumption in regard to
creativity. Like, to create art
one needs passion. Whatever the hell that means.
I am working to live my life to the fullest, emotionally,
physically and mentally, but have to do so with the knowledge that not everyone
is along for the same ride.
Passion can be a scary thing for those who do not have enough of
their own—and for those who have too much and cannot handle more. I, myself, have fallen victim to
tremendous passion on numerous occasions.
I gave so much of myself. I felt so powerfully. What I got in return
was less than satisfying: Misguided affection and trust, rejection (imagined or otherwise),
strained relationships, exhaustion, expectations, harsh realizations, moments
of weakness, regret….
At the end of it all, however, I also get something very
important. Understanding.
My journey is my own, and sometimes, life experiences are
just that, experiences. They may
be a catalyst for something more…or they may be something that just
happened. Something to make me
say, “Well, that was cool.
Next.” They don’t have to
be Events (with a capital “E”).
The problem is, of course, that I occasionally want so much more than
just “an experience”. I want to get caught up in the emotion…just not consumed by
it.
But then, I am a woman. I feel things deeply.
And, you know, PMS. Lol.
Until my next entry, Lovelies….
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