I am coming, slowly but surely, to the realization that I don't have many outlets available to me by way of venting my true, raw feelings. This is partially my fault. Some of the most prominent instances that I desperately need to talk about are so humiliating and emotionally exhausting that I can't seem to breach the topics, not even with my closest friends. ESPECIALLY them. I simply cannot divulge my demons to them. I require complete strangers. Nameless, faceless blobs in the primordial goo. I regret that I can't share my innermost hangups here...at least not candidly. I'll allude to some things and permit you to paint the rest of the picture with your imaginations. That, I promise. Maybe it'll feel good to me.
Sometimes when I do open up, I'm chastised for having the feelings that I have, and I'm told that conversation about such things is unwelcome. It is always when I feel my very safest that I make the dire mistake of speaking candidly. I'm then reminded that it is not safe, nor are my words wanted, nor warranted, and I abort mission until the next time, which ends the same, and the next, and the next.
My feelings largely go unnoticed unless I'm so bogged down with emotion that I finally break. I'm the kind of girl who is happy and perfectly okay as long as others around me are okay. My own heartache can wait.
There's been a pretty visible paradigm shift in the way things typically happen in my life, and though it feels very foreign and uncomfortable, I'm riding the wave until the tide subsides and all returns to some semblance of that awful idea called "normalcy". Hence the importance to me of this blog. Without self expression, I wilt, and die.
I've been holding a lot of my feelings in for so long that I halfway forgot I had them. That's actually a gift. There are so, so many things I've endured that I wish I could forget. I've never been the suicidal type, but if I were, a warm steel bullet to the temple might be mellow; an ethereal experience that I've always likened to the snowy channel on the old floor model televisions, without the noise. I'd transcend my own body and float wispily above myself and breathe a sigh of relief as I watched all my pain run red down the shower drain, like in Psycho. I'd smile above myself, and start anew...all my memories gone, all my transgressions, my failures, my terrible mistakes, just gone. I'd have paid all my dues; I'd be square with the house again. It would all just be over.
Ah, but I'm not suicidal. Not in the slightest. I have such love for life...all life. Humans, animals, insects, trees, flowers... I have a lust for life. I love life. I loathe human beings. I love human beings. I love dogs; I call them buddies. :-) I love my best friends, my husband, my beautiful mom. I love even the sad moments, the angry moments, the fearful moments, the uncertain moments.
I hate corruption, which lies in every human being. I loathe deceit; the ability to look someone you love straight in the face and lie to them. I hate betrayal. Ill will. Ridicule. War. Of everything I hate, and I hate many, many things, I hate war most of all.
I don't mean the concept of war; the romantic idea of fighting bravely for the soil you were shat into existence upon. I refer to actual, bloody, searing, screaming war, fraught with sexy weapons and dirty tactics. I hate war. I hate watching young, lively men and women rain herbicides onto earthly life. Tearing fathers and farmers and counselors and nurses and children to shreds with the bullet and the blade. Torturing. Scarring. Extinguishing what could possibly be those pin pricks of light that enrich my life. I don't like that the government can pay people to kill people simply to further their own profligate, selfish agendas.
I am a US Army veteran.
The duality of man is such a curious thing. I'll expound on it, I vow. But not tonight.
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