Sometimes I don't know how much of myself is exposed when I choose to place it on a blog for the internet to read and devour. I am not sure what sort of teeth come out of the dark spaces of the net to see what I have said and find some way to assassinate my character. That I am prone to writer darker themes is obvious but that does not mean my mind is constantly in a state of detriment. In fact a good part of what motivates me is the compassion I feel towards the suffering of others, that I can do nothing for. I am constantly alerted in my mind whenever discord pries itself into the facets of my life and I see a world that I can do nothing for but to comment on with my crippled mind.
I do not know what asset I have in my mental frailty's. What anxiety will do to me when it chooses to peek its head around corners and notice that I am a chicken-shit for not take opportunity when it has come up. For feeling socially stunted while I sat terrified of living life, while at the same time eagerly wanting to live life. I do not know how much of my compassion can translate out when I have a hard enough time understanding who I am. For I have spent a great deal of time doing inner searches of my motivations, to look at what has led me here. As though I had an origin story written in comic book panels.
Attachments have been terrifying for me. My family has always been the strongest of these, set in stone from my birth, and I felt a sort of pity for those who either lost that support system, or never had it to begin with. But this is not to say that I have felt sorry for those who found their life for want of such things. For I am constantly astounded when against all odds they have climbed out of pits of despair, and discovered life despite the stacked deck. That i am lucky to have the support that I have had is always apparent. But here I am exchanging my attachment for my family, for a significant other that I do not ever want to be apart from.
Dreaming of tomorrow is scary, but not scary when someone appears to need you as much as you need them. That I am thankful she sees my fragile heart and saw something of worth, that she can look passed those fears that I used to have, and determine that I have the potential that I tried to hold onto despite feeling as though i fell behind. But, to myself I am also thankful. I am thankful that before I finally found my one that I was able to finish my studies, thus far, and to have finally done it, for myself first. That I had to come to my own path over these years, and discover my own route, before I could turn to someone else and ask to join their ride. I am thankful for her every day. I hope she always knows that.
But to know that my quietness may be mistaken for disinterest is beyond me. I choose not to talk often, because when I do talk sometimes it is too quiet, and not profound or clever enough, and I do not like to be thought little of. But mostly i just like to listen to people who like to talk, I like to observe more than participate, save for my with those im comfortable with, like friends, family and loves. I distrust easy, and I get vibes off people rather quickly that I have come to trust, but not rely on and have been ready to be surprised when bad vibes are proven good, and disappointed when good vibes are proven bad.
My mind continually wanders, and I do not know to what point I am making sense when I start to write a long-winded poem about nothing in particular. But I hope to find a point out of some form of madness. I just want to exist, and be happy, and I want others to too. When I balk, or sneer, or grow belligerent of leadership it is because of what damage I think they are doing to their populace, and to the psyche of fellow men to grow suspicious and plant detrimental thoughts, when at the end of the day most of us are just trying to grow and go, and move on and move through. And exist.
All I want is to give my words out as gifts to masses who might deem them worth a read, and to find my little slice of paradise with my significant partner and her beautiful kind and silly eyes. For holding onto laughter that is easily offered is a beautiful thing, and I hold her tight, and true.
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