I… don’t know. I must only blog these days when I’m feeling insecure or weird, as it strikes me that all of my writing is along these lines and I hope like crazy that this isn’t me; this isn’t representative of who I am. But I’m kinda scared it is.
In the past I’ve written some of my most poignant stuff… what I call “eyes closed fingers flying”… that is to say, I touch type my thoughts as fast as they come out, with no heed towards grammar or punctuation unless it fits in my brain. I think this is likely the closest I will ever get to presenting my very self, my inner thoughts, me, to someone else. I think this may be my first for this blog, no doubt not my last.
Here goes. Eyes closed, fingers flying.
*ahem*
I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore, everything, even the simple things in life like study or friends that I always knew have left me. There is no continuancy or flow any longer and I feel disrupted – this is not going well with my spazz attacks. In saying that it’s probably healthy for me to run from them and embrace this randomness however… who can? It isn’t my nature.
And this inherent desire to be loved and appreciated, it wont go away. And I wonder is that normal? Do normal people feel this way? Or is it just those who were never appreciated or loved in their growing up years (how very American of me) who grasp for affection in the strangest of places? I get angry if people on forums think ill of me. I just NEED to be loved. And now I have two married men fawning around for my attentions, and I enjoy it. Meh. There is it, I said it, I enjoy it. I will not encourage them necessarily but at the same time I’m making no efforts to discourage. Again is this normal? I have no idea. Who knows what normal is these days.
When men compliment me… I get this ache in my chest, right between my breasts, deep in there – I suspect somewhere in the heart region. I have no idea what this could mean or, indeed, if that’s normal too. It isn’t a light flutter of excitement, it’s an ache. Like it’s a bad thing. Why would my brain consider being called beautiful (albeit by a married man who claims to love his wife dearly) a bad thing? Or is this a more primal thing, bypassing the brain?
An I can’t stop thinking about you. About all the silly little things. And the only positive of this is that it’s removed any space in my brain for me to think about him. But really you’re just a replacement in my head, slotting into the position of the guy who can’t get past me, and we all know that it’s all crap and I’m just making up shit in my head to make myself feel better about life, because simply, I have naught.
Sighs.
WTF does all that mean, I have no idea.
Broken Bella Donna 