Loving you is an illness I'm unwilling to be cured of.

 

    I hate feeling stupid and love makes me dumber than a bag of hammers. But I can't help but letting myself be stupid. I love this feeling even if being dumb and stupid is my least favorite thing.

    I want this feeling to last forever and I know it will. I care about my sparrow more than anyone realizes and maybe more than he realizes. I just hope he feels the same for me, even if we grow old and stupid. He's going to be mine forever and I'll make sure of it. 

    God, I sound like a moron. I hate when I'm in one of those gushing moods, it makes me act dumb. 

I want to be able to use this blog more, I forget about it a lot, but it's kind of nice to put all my brain mush somewhere, or I gotta start doing my voice notes again. I don't know, 'm a teenager with too many thoughts.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche 

Sugar in a world of Sour

    The experience of a women can jump between to two things: hysteria and terror or complete helpless joy. I believe that I have stayed in the middle for most of my recent waking moments.

        I've never been good at happiness. I mean, I've spent most of my life completely unhappy so the feeling of joy has been but a fleeting memory, but now I feel myself completely helpless and lost in my own intense ecstasy. However, when joy has sprung int my life like a tree in early spring, I can't help but worry about a winter's snow storm to come. I can't help but worry I am in a dream, and that I will wake up and be back to the shell I was. Like soon I will be back in the nightmare that has tainted my life. Everything just feel so sweet and maybe I should just accept it but I can't help but worry.

    I've worried about the stupidest things all my life, I worry abut my hair, my voice, how I'm holding my hands, what I touch first on my plate, what I spend my time doing, and much more. Many of my worries evolve around my appearance. I have had a love/hate relationship with my body and appearance for years, I have teetered on an eating disorder and almost smashed mirrors. But on other days, I see myself as someone deserving of the label pretty. Still it circles back to my worries and my dependence on others views of me. I hate to admit it, especially being a hardcore feminist, but do I count under the male gaze? Is my appearance good enough to be objectified? Or am I just a girl with misplaced confidence.

            This desire to be objectified, I can only pin point it to passed abuse. I feel stupid that I can't heal, it's been years and months and I can't seem to let go being hurt. But maybe working through these repressed feelings and struggles is good for me. I have people who love me enough to walk with me through fire, so maybe healing won't be so bad this time.

“Some people—and I am one of them—hate happy ends. We feel cheated. Harm is the norm. Doom should not jam. The avalanche stopping in its tracks a few feet above the cowering village behaves not only unnaturally but unethically.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Pnin