ihavebeenfloated

It’s amazing how your assessment of a situation can change within minutes. I wrapped up last night feeling like I made some tangible difference in regards to various issues I’ve been having. I woke up this morning feeling comfortable and relaxed, which is fairly typical, but usually the anxiety and worry of what I’ve got to do all day sets in and ruins everything. Not today! My biggest concern was working in some Bioshock playtime, which I got.

But now I kind of feel like I want to crawl inside myself and hide away from everyone. Something was said, someone got angry—unexpectedly, something got explained, and then a eerie kind of silence set in. No reaction, no apology, no understanding, just silence. Silence is a bitch, like a small child in a corner crying its eyes out but won’t answer any questions about why it’s doing what it’s doing. Torture, really, for someone who likes to know all the angles of any situation.

Defeated is a good word for how I feel. I want to belittle myself and say things like, “it’s not a big deal,” and, “it’ll all be forgotten about before too long,” but it is a big deal, and I won’t forget about it, even if others will.

A somewhat fundamental part of my existence is that I do what I am doing right now. I write. I don’t write privately in a notebook I keep under my pillow, I don’t do password protected LiveJournal entries. I come from a time on the internet when everything was public and nothing was hidden. A personal webpage was something to be celebrated, Geocities URL, horrible animated gifs and all.

I’ve always been liberal about what I write. I’m a lot better than I used to be, as I’ve gotten older over the last six years I’ve realized there are things that should not be written about, or at least they should be written about vaguely. When I get upset over something, however, my only outlet is to write about it until I can’t write anymore. I can sit around and think about shit all I want, but until I sit down and write something on my website, I won’t understand it, I won’t be able to deal with it.

I can’t help it. This, all this is who I am. There’s no changing it, no supressing it. There are few things I won’t change about myself if someone asks me to, but my writing is something that will never be stopped or censored.

So, then, imagine how it feels when someone reacts with anger over the fact that you have written about them. I don’t see it as writing about them, I am writing about myself and, I guess unfortunately, they are a part of it. The only thing that makes it worse is when they miss the entire point of what I wrote.

I like to think that I am fairly easy to understand when I write. For my own sake, I map out all the corners of my mind and write it down, then I assess what I’ve written and determine whether or not it adequately describes how I’m feeling, and perhaps offers a solution of some kind—though generally this is not the point. If the writing doesn’t fit—well, then I’m fucking crazy and this has never happened.

One variable I can’t account for is this: maybe I am fucking crazy. When someone—or in this case, two people—completely miss the point of something I’ve written, I end up thinking a variety of things all at once.

1.) Are these people fucking stupid? Can they really not understand what I am trying to say?

2.) Although I think it says one thing, what if I actually wrote something else? It’d be as if I wrote something with the intention of saying one thing, but what came out was so finely tampered with by my subconcious that how it reads says something entirely difference.

3.) Do these people just fundamentally not understand me?

A reaction of anger and confusion to the fact that I write tells me, or at least I think it tells me, that option number three is the safest bet. Unfortunately this just makes me feel profoundly alone. Picking option three in reference to someone who is supposed to understand me better than anyone else that I know makes me feel profoundly empty as well as alone.

So, then, here I lie in bed, writing another emo rant about my life on my phone. So it goes.