Monday, September 27, 2004
Call Me Sorrowful.
So yesterday I took this test on quizilla that was supposed to tell me what kind of soul I had. It said I had the Sorrowful one. I don't feel the need to post the description or the picture because I think the name says it all.
This is not in contradiction to my other posts, I don't think. It's just something I don't like to address so much. I am happy to be home. I am happy to be around my friends again ... the ones left, anyway. They seem to be dropping off the map of existence these days.
Last night a good friend of mine told me not to feel guilty over my own feelings. The thing is I know I've hit some kind of emotional and financial plane that is totally foreign to me. It is a humbling experience, one I appreciate in some way.
But the worst part, the worst part of all, is the pain in my chest. It is ever-present. It doesn't matter if I'm sitting up or standing. It doesn't matter if I'm driving. If my favorite band or song is playing. In those times it almost actually hurts worse for some reason, like my heart is trying to fight whatever is oppressing it so it could just let out one single, unopposed beat.
And the worst part about this pain is that it feels so outside of my control, like the way alcohol goes through your body, and they tell you the only way to sober up is through time. Cold showers and coffee don't work. They just help to pass the time.
They say coffee makes a hyper drunk. It's not really a solution. Alcohol's that way with loneliness. The loneliness is the kind one doesn't dare speak of in depth, for fear of alienating the few who are close to her with her pain, driving them away so she'll only have more time to think about her heart, and how rather than think the pain from its breaking will be on its way soon, she'll realize it is still deep in the process of breaking.
So yesterday I took this test on quizilla that was supposed to tell me what kind of soul I had. It said I had the Sorrowful one. I don't feel the need to post the description or the picture because I think the name says it all.
This is not in contradiction to my other posts, I don't think. It's just something I don't like to address so much. I am happy to be home. I am happy to be around my friends again ... the ones left, anyway. They seem to be dropping off the map of existence these days.
Last night a good friend of mine told me not to feel guilty over my own feelings. The thing is I know I've hit some kind of emotional and financial plane that is totally foreign to me. It is a humbling experience, one I appreciate in some way.
But the worst part, the worst part of all, is the pain in my chest. It is ever-present. It doesn't matter if I'm sitting up or standing. It doesn't matter if I'm driving. If my favorite band or song is playing. In those times it almost actually hurts worse for some reason, like my heart is trying to fight whatever is oppressing it so it could just let out one single, unopposed beat.
And the worst part about this pain is that it feels so outside of my control, like the way alcohol goes through your body, and they tell you the only way to sober up is through time. Cold showers and coffee don't work. They just help to pass the time.
They say coffee makes a hyper drunk. It's not really a solution. Alcohol's that way with loneliness. The loneliness is the kind one doesn't dare speak of in depth, for fear of alienating the few who are close to her with her pain, driving them away so she'll only have more time to think about her heart, and how rather than think the pain from its breaking will be on its way soon, she'll realize it is still deep in the process of breaking.
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