a strange sort of terror

I’ve spent a considerable part of my evening on the University of Edinburgh website and I feel strangely torn between excitement and a great terror – three years spent in a cocoon of friendshomecollegeeatingdrunkennessaiesec have spoilt me and made me quite afraid of not being in this comfort zone of mine.

I don’t quite know what to expect, but that’s a good thing! and a bad thing. Oh I don’t know what I’m saying, just that I still have three months to go and it’s going to be an agonizingly long time for this feeling to build up and leave me quite tongue-tied once I’m actually there.

What I will do without my regular sources of sanity around me all the time (or within easy reach at any rate) is a question I don’t really want to think about right now.

…to clear a little space in the corners of my mind

1.18 am and the queer feeling in the pit of my stomach hasn’t gone away since the day before yesterday.

If I could wish for one thing and one thing only, in this moment, I’d wish for surety. I’d wish to know that this isn’t transient, prone to changes of heart and mind and location.

Because if I did know, in a way where the certainty of the thing could not be doubted at all, or put to test in anyway, then I wouldn’t have to put myself through this every time there’s distance or preoccupation.

I wouldn’t have to suffer my pride’s reproaches or my intellect’s ridicule; I wouldn’t have to seek solace in other people’s opinions, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge to myself the innate weakness I have that condemns me to constantly feel dissatisfied, neglected and unimportant – even when I may not be.

Somehow, in my head, it doesn’t feel right. And for once, I’m hoping desperately to be proven wrong.

i just need some time to think

Tie my hands together, hold my words back and don’t let me give in.

I trust too much, and perhaps, someday soon, I’ll find myself paying the price for it. I feel too vulnerable and it makes me want to take everything back and start over.

There’s a constant dilemma: save something of myself or throw it all in, give everything and then, when it’s over and I’m left blank and pitifully empty, what?

Maybe I should take a breather and cut myself off for a bit. I want to know what it’s like to go back to when I wasn’t this way.

Sometimes, I wish I could be less insane, less violently emotional, less extreme – it would all be so much easier to deal with.

Sanity, where are you when I need you???

Or at least give me the company of someone cynical for a bit.

round and round it goes, every day’s the one before

I’m gonna try anything to just feel better
Tell me what to do
You know I can’t see through the haze around me
And I do anything that just feel better

Sometimes I surprise myself with my own stupidity. You think you know yourself and the limits to which you can descend in those moments of complete… brainlessness. But sadly, you surprise [should I say shock?] yourself too often to even pretend that you have any semblance of perfect control over yourself and what you think.

I’m not good at certain things. Traces of my earlier socially-inept self are always lurking under the surface of everyday conversation and waiting to trip me up.

Thing that are running through my head right now:

- How could I, you ask? It’s not because I’m heartless or insensitive, it’s just because I don’t know how to communicate my own sympathies without appearing hypocritical.

- I’m really tired of “the system” – I have no exams worth studying for and nothing to do, a state of affairs that aggravates this feeling of uselessness.

- God, why CAN’T you see through them? Why do you want to dispense your sympathies so readily when they don’t deserve it? You’re worth more than they can ever know.

- I’m terribly amused, a little unsure and more than a little frightened. But, even if it is just a temporary, random thing, I’m happy.

- I wrote the crappiest exam of my life today. Even worse than last year’s shit on Entrepreneurship.

- If only you’d let yourself be happy.

I don’t really have a point in writing this. I’m just bored, slightly shaken, and… unable to do anything but think. I’m reading a crappy book that’s irritating me with its so-called existentialism and its oh-so-jaded protagonist.

Life is meant to be lived, madly, wierdly, crazily – not drifted through aimlessly.

Oh please tell me soon, I’m painfully curious.

if i fell

If I fell in love with you
Would you promise to be true
And help me understand
’cause I’ve been in love before
And I found that love was more
Than just holding hands

Perhaps, these flashes of emotion aren’t real. Maybe I’m just someone who’s terribly good at mistaking emotions, throwing words and thoughts around too carelessly and paying the price, many times over. But this phase is so addictive, this feeling so self-inflicted that I seem to court disaster too often.

Pointless self-avowed promises, broken repeatedly in favour of a short-lived happiness. You throw yourself in, completely – allow yourself to sink into the dissipation that you crave [and you know, all the while, that this is not real]

It is almost a retreat to the basic, simple existence of aeons ago: take what you want, even when the giving of it is less than assured, wrap your thought around the one thing you think of at any given time and hope, fervently hope, that everything else will take care of itself.

If I give my heart to you
I must be sure
From the very start
That you would love me more than her

Tell me what you’re feeling, show me what this means – as much as doubt is addictive, certainty has always eluded me.