I haven’t seen Pat in more than two months. We’re trying to schedule something for March, and by that time it’ll be an entire quarter year since we’ve hung out. I’ve come a long way since I last saw him, in terms of mindset, and he’s probably the only one who totally understands how gravely important that is to me. It’s too bad that my other close friends don’t completely understand me, although it’s no fault of their own and I don’t hold it against them.

It takes pain to understand pain, and Pat is the one who’s had the most similar experiences. If there was one person in this world who has me figured out, it’s him. It used to feel as though he would have to come to my level to talk to me, to understand what I was going through, to give me guidance and support.

Now it feels as if I’ve come to his level, and I understand his attitude, motivations, and worldview much better as a result of this. He admitted that he always wondered when I’d get there, and he’s curious if he’ll notice a change the next time he sees me.

I see all the influences that change me as adding more to my mind, another piece to the quilt.

Keeping every piece becomes as important as gaining more.

Whenever Trolley and I hang out together, whether it’s a car ride or a session of tower defense, we queue up albums that we both enjoy. Billy Talent, The Artist in the Ambulance, Sing the Sorrow, Give Up. However, there’s one song that he never queues up, that he always skips without anyone else knowing.

He knows that I can’t listen to that one song off guard. As much as I want that song for myself, to mean nothing more than a frail voice and bouncing beats, I can’t give up the memories that I associate with it, I can’t let go of what the song has come to mean.

And it’s only now that I realize that it’s better this way.

Out of the storm of life I have borne away only a few ideas — and not one feeling. For a long time now I have been living, not with my heart, but with my head. I weigh, analyze my own passions and actions with severe curiosity, but without sympathy.

—Pechorin, A Hero of Our Time

When I was younger, I decided that I wanted to cast all my emotion aside, because at the time I knew nothing but pain. I set this as my goal, and started to work towards a sterile, cerebral mindset. I wanted to feel nothing, and this idea followed me through to university.

At this time, I never believed that I was completely successful; I still felt too much. However, as my situation changed, as I met new people with good hearts and minds, I experienced what happiness was like. I was never satisfied though, never happy enough, and always wanted more but could never achieve it. Suddenly, it felt as if my cerebral goal was too successful, and I was stuck, I was numb.

I’ve gone from one extreme to the other, from wanting nothing to wanting everything. In both cases I was a failure, but it’s only now that I realize that success would have assuredly meant no turning back. I believe that when a certain extent is reached, one becomes ignorant to anything that could possibly change oneself. Now I understand the balance, the dichotomy that absolutely must exist in order to have a healthy mind.

And things are much better this way.

19. Have you ever been in love? Unfortunately.

—LBJ

Well, here we are again.

I used to think that love was only pain. That was when the only experiences I had with love were bad, when everything I ever felt was unrequited. The fact that I felt this way was representative of the fact that I hadn’t gotten over those feelings at the time. How childish, inexperienced, confused, immature I was. This feeling shaped much of my personality in the last few years, although I’ve recently been able to come out of such an emotional blockade.

Having a relationship where most feelings, however confused, however torrential, however temporary, were shared, has allowed me to come to terms with the past. Such an incident has benefited me greatly, has let me know that I’m not so numb anymore, that it’s possible for such a relationship to exist even if I may never experience it again. Perhaps I was so scared that I would never fall in love again that any such experience would have shocked me into getting over what had happened in the past.

Now I embrace the feeling of love, embrace the fact that the simple act of listening to a song can fill me such poignancy, completely regardless of whether it’s good or bad. Not only do I enjoy being able to care for someone, I enjoy missing them as well, as difficult as it can be. I like the fact that something can turn me terribly, illogically weak. Every emotion involved, whether it’s pleasurable or painful, fills me with the urge to write, to create, to express. This is what I look for. This is what I need.

Now only good can come of love.

How odd that the themes of my writings have mostly shifted in one direction. I always wonder what people think of what I say. I would imagine that people think I’m being melodramatic, that I’m looking for some sort of protagonistic pathos, or that I’m being some pretentious fuck.

It’s as if a single incident has shifted my mindset, that I just can’t seem to completely get over what has passed. The hurting has stopped, to be sure, but the thinking isn’t done. I still get inspired by memories, ideas, emotions, almost anything I’ve experienced through this.

I was once scared that I would never fall in love again, and I used to be emotionally numb. Perhaps all of this was simply a result of a life of stagnancy, of boredom. Now I can write again, I have things to think about, I have emotions to experience, I seem to have things to look forward to.

Can heartbreak be so beneficial? I know that I can feel. I don’t need to force my artistic writing. My mind seems to be filled with new endless thoughts. I can even appreciate certain music on another level now. This complexity, this mysteriousness is so interesting.

My only worry is that this new vitality will level off into nothingness.