Usually when I write these posts I have at least some idea of where they will go.  With this one I have no idea whatsoever, but I still feel the need for expression through writing.

There is beauty in shame.  Truth in misery.  Clarity in pain.

In life things keep building and building until release, and when all the walls are torn down, everything is open and on the table.  With a house of cards you don’t know what might happen.  You can build something up differently than was planned and things happen in unexpected and spontaneous ways, but destruction (real destruction) only goes one way.  Loss is only loss if you don’t gain something, and it is only on those rare occasions that lead to losing more than you gain that we should truly weep.

This post is not a post, but is in fact a (insert wonderful word used for emotional dump that I can’t think of).

To some I may seem insane, and some may indeed be correct, however to quote Homer*; “In a world gone mad, only a lunatic is truly insane.”


You will never be so close to those who suffered greatly with you.  It is only when we are weakened that we let others in.  This may not be true and may only apply to me and the people like me (insecure and highly jaded from being burned too many times) and it may be many other things, but it’s not false.

Tragedy has a way of bringing people together.  Sometimes I want to tear it all down just so I can have the excuse to cry on someone’s shoulder – sometimes I hope for things to fall apart for the sole reason that I can be on the inside facing the dark and scary outside world instead of continuing to be on the outside looking in.

Does having enough courage to admit your flaws make you a coward for not taking all opportunities to fix them?  “Sometimes I want to put a bullet between the eyes of every panda who wouldn’t screw to save its species” -Chuck Palahniuk

Lonely people put up walls to protect themselves from who they believe threaten to hurt them while they sit on crowded buses next to people doing the same thing, all of them alone together, surrounded by friends but alone in their own minds.  People like me are those that search for what they have and do not believe happiness when it buys them lunch, and are always looking for the trap door, the catch, the knife they’re going to stab me with as I turn away.  None of these fears are held logically, consciously, but the suspicion and borderline paranoia (based on experience mind you, and at a young age toboot which makes all fears extreme) remains, buzzing in the background like a warning alarm, wailing it’s everlasting message that the people you are with will hurt you and you should find the right people, when you are in fact among friends.

Why do we feel alone in crowded rooms?  How can we?  When does it end?


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