Twice in one day? What?

Five years ago, I wrote that hope was the mindkiller. It can be a euphoric feeling, but as the result of several bad experiences, the potential for disappointment outweighed the gain.

My way of dealing with disappointment was to assume the worst. It made me comfortable. There was certainty, and I could move on.

So I had learned never to hope. This is how I changed. This is how I adapted. A defence mechanism I used to protect myself from being hurt. I had been fine with this, until today.

Perhaps it was having Julie tell me that I’m better than the attitude I have, or the life I lead¹, but I’m filled with hope again. For once, I dare to dream of something greater.

I want it and hate it at the same time. It gives me courage, but throws my world into uncertainty, like I’m setting myself up to be hurt again.

But Julie’s strong enough to believe in me and stubborn enough not to give up, because I’m not capable of believing in myself.

And maybe that’s enough to break the cycle.

1. It made me realize I need someone else to tell me certain things, because I can’t see them for myself. I hate the fact that I can’t be strong enough for myself. I probably shouldn’t. It just means there’s something else about which I’m being too hard on myself, which I’ll have to tell my psychologist about anyway. [↑]

New developments have left me with much to say. My mind feels like it’s going 80 thoughts per minute. Chaos proves to be a useful writing tool. For now, rest.

Sometimes I think I see the letters on my desk rattling to the bass, but when I look, the letters are still. I suspect that my eyes are twitching.

It was a heavy day. I’m too scrambled inside to eat. I know I’ll be hungry first thing in the morning.

“Malice”, he used. Not great, but good, and certainly more than I deserve. I’m still paranoid.

Through everything else, someone is testing me. Testing my new found serenity. Testing the very thing that I’ve been fighting against, for the last few years. The only person who can bring me to a desire for physical manifestation of my raging frustration (aside from people who smoke around babies). On the bus, I uncontrollably pictured wrapping my fingers around her neck, and strangling her. I know that that’s bad. Sometimes my own thoughts scare me. I’m not a violent person.

The world is a twisted, twisted one-act.

Even before getting in bed, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep because of this. I knew that as soon as I woke up to roll over, I wouldn’t stop thinking, wondering about the situation I’m in.

Somewhere in my mind I want to run away again, simply because it would be the easiest thing to do. Fortunately, I know better, and realize that I have to face up to the decisions I make, as well as the consequences that result.

I can’t tell if the hardest part is not knowing or not assuming.

When I went home for Christmas three years ago, I was a very confused person. I had no idea what I was looking for, what I was doing. When I came back, I felt as if I had gone through some sort of mid-life crisis. I still didn’t know what I wanted, but for some reason I wasn’t confused anymore. Did I end up resolving anything? To this day I don’t know.

What I do know, however, is that I haven’t stopped changing. Even if I did come to some conclusion back then, it would have no relevance today. So many things are changing, not the world around me, but me myself.

I see this as a good thing. It lets me know that I’m still learning, that I’m still living to the highest degree. I have difficulty “defining” myself, difficulty understanding my own (long term) actions sometimes. As I’ve known since high school, it usually takes me at least half a year to understand the choices I make.

Sometimes it feels like a constant mid-life crisis when I keep questioning the decisions I make and the relationships I have with others. I question things not with doubt, but with curiosity.

And this has filled my life with uncertainty.