Shades of Green

~To Dream so Vivid~
Ad 0:
2001-08-24 02:42:31 (UTC)

Hate. Cold. Logic. Anger.

I am human, but I am not the norm. My emotions are
separate; they no longer co-exist peacefully. Be it
bipolar or manic, I gravitate towards either side of the
spectrum with devastating results. I do not love only
passively, and I do not hate in small increments. The part
of me that tries is an instable being, brought together by
the simple need to coexist with those around me. When that
need drops away, when my anger burns so fiercely that I no
longer care an ounce for the humanity linked to me, then
that balance bleeds to nothing… and I hate.

People know, or know of, my love. It is one of my
greatest qualities, and my curse. I fear not commitment,
the problem that so many couples quarrel over. Instead, I
need the security that it provides, because my own
emotional instability leaves me dependant on another, if I
wish to survive and love as a ‘normal’ individual.
Unfortunately, that is an aspect of myself that I rarely
realize, and that people realize even less. I harbor
within me so much bitter anger and hatred towards people
and the world that sometimes, I fear I may someday snap. I
collect what kinetic rage I feel into myself, filling my
essence to capacity, until it condenses into something
else. It goes dormant, but for how long, I do not know.
Every so often, every time the world grows darker, and
despair veils my eyes, that anger I hold within me grows
tense and trembles.

If I continue trying to be ‘normal’ now, without the
aid of someone who can help me figure out my problems
better than I, then the one I love will soon have to
realize that I will not get better. Focusing on one’s life
is certainly something of great importance, but one must
take into account their emotional ability to handle such
strain. You can focus on pouring cement into an ideal
foundation, but if you do not reinforce that foundation
with the proper means, if you do not make sure that the
foundation is sturdy and upon sturdy ground, then the house
that is later built atop of it, will indefinitely crumble.

My college, my academic career, is my foundation. Once
built, it opens up so many avenues for me, so much hope for
my future. But unless my mental outlook changes during
that time, unless the veil that blinds my heart and mind to
true hope is removed, then whatever benefits my academic
career will bring amounts to little more than nothing.

I know what I must do. My logical mind can always
explain it. Build my academic career, prepare my life for
the future ahead, and seek counseling to mend what has long
since been poisoned within my heart. The first two, I can
prepare, because they are things that I have been taught to
do, and have openly sought to do, in the past. While their
importance to my life has varied from time to time, they
have always remained there, constantly drilled into me by
early schooling, and even my family.

Unfortunately, mental and emotional stability are not
something I was taught. I was made to believe that for the
greatest duration of my life, I was normal. That my family
was okay, even despite the divorces and the fights, that I
did not truly have problems. Even so, I harbored within me
the instinctual feeling that something was wrong, and that
element conflicted so much with what I was told, that my
world grew twisted and warped. I have morals, and I know
right from wrong, but in turn, I did not learn how to deal
with the darker emotions that plagued my family. Anger,
rage, hatred, bitterness, disappointment, fear, all
emotions that have assaulted me constantly, threatening to
break what persona I have been able to forge for myself.
Yet, somehow I have withstood what was thrown at me,
growing stronger in some manners, but far too weak in
others. I realize what hardships I faced, were not truly
resolved or dealt with, but instead absorbed into me, where
they flow together and wait. Because I hate that part of
myself, because I constantly refuse to even acknowledge the
existence of that which lies within me, the bitterness only
grows stronger, and I leave it as it is.

I can live and survive as well as any other, but my
temperament is failing; I can feel the hairline cracks
creeping along my conscious, and I fear that too soon will
I fall again. She wishes me to be strong, speaking of how
my want to see Her, is something pathetic. That phrase,
the tone of Her voice and Her very words, awakened a source
of hatred that shocked me. What was originally hopeless
despair, gave way to a seething anger that was directed at
Her, the one whom I loved, and wished never to hate. With
the anger, came a bitterness and resentment; who is She, to
tell me what is pathetic? Who is She, to belittle what I
feel is beautiful, when it is She who makes me this way?

I fear that the part of me that I try so hard to hide
away, even more so than the part of me that hates my
happiness, is beginning to awaken. It has gone ignored for
too long, and now, it is restless. It wants to hate, to
hurt, and to rage, and it knows all too well how to hurt
people. By being the curious individual I am, trying to
dissect why those I care for act and feel as they do, I
have supplied my anger with a detailed listing of what
vulnerabilities lie within my friends. I prefer to think
of myself as stupider than I am, sometimes even fooling
myself, but I sometimes must wonder if there is a side of
me that is far more intelligent, far more voracious. I
know that my conscious mind retains a keen ability to
remember emotions and feelings; such is why I feel hopeless
so often, because what pain I felt in guilt and sadness,
can immediately be recalled, in all of its intensity. But
my unconscious mind, or at least the parts that I wish not
to acknowledge, may be sharper, and far less kind.

My only solace in these musings are that when I write,
when I try to analyze my feelings and emotions, be it in
despair or in anger, I am able to calm myself. As long as
I remain logical and cold, keeping both the darker and
lighter emotions from my conscious mind, I can remain
sane. It is a safe feeling, just as it is terrible; to
have to feel nothing, in order to feel stable, is far
emptier of a sensation than the peace it brings.

I hope that someday, She can understand what I am going
through. I may be the melodramatic lead character in my
life, but even so, I am still a part of hers. And,
melodramatic or not, I can influence Her life as well as
mine, whether or not either of us wants to admit that. I
know that I love Her, when I step back to analyze the
emotion. It is there, and while it is almost a blind love,
I can see that it is Her that I love, and not some false
image I have made for Her. I do want to heal, for myself,
and for Her, but I am hoping dearly that She will
understand that it is not something that I can do alone,
because it is something I have been forced to do alone, for
all of my life.

I love you, my Tenshi. Sleep well.