Addicted to Humanity

You're in a dark place, aren't you?

I nodded.

He gazed at me knowingly, without sympathy, without shame. He wasn't going to try to fix me.

I was being seen, like I've never been seen before.




Is this mother pain?
Is this relationship pain?
Is this about your relationship to depression?
What's that?
An addiction to pain.
...
Yes. I am a pain addict.
Say more, says the therapist.
Well, says the patient, I am trapped in this cycle.
"This cycle...?"
It's an addiction, really, to intense feeling.
Do you want the cycle to end?
Yes, and no. If the cycle stops, I lose my humanity.
What does that mean?
I am cursed and blessed with this extraordinarily sensitive disposition.
--- The sensitivity allows me to feel all of human pain and joy.
--- I don't know, I don't know.
What don't you know?
I can't live without ---feeling.
It seems as if this causes you grief.
Of course -! I don't have a choice - I can't live with it, or without it.
You can't control your emotions -
Yes, yes, you can! You cut them out! All of which you don't want to feel.
You still have those emotions, whether or not you feel them.
Stop it, stop it! I am sabotaging my own life! I'm tired of the pain! And I can't bear to be away -

Stop.




I've woken up to this world to realize that I have become a realist at the price of my idealism. I've yet not come to terms, nor will my being will ever truly be one or the other in this lifespan. It's a challenging place to be in, this yearning for something fantastical and unreal, but it's that childlike me that I am anchored to, and I will not let go.





There's a certain time in the hour in traffic that I wish that I'm several hundred cars in front of where I'm stranded. I always imagine that I was able to move ahead through space like that. It makes sitting in standstill traffic way more interesting.




I don't need more limitations. That feeling of limitlessness is profound, special. That's when I'm creative, expansive, growing, flowing, moving. I love it when I'm limitless. Playing with shapes, words, forms - structures crumble in my hands and I am rewarded with the freedom to rebuild it anyway that I want with these same hands. These hands. These hands to write, these hands to conduct, these hands to touch and feel and want to hold - these hands do not let go.




Girl Scout cookies gives me a good amount of iron for breakfast. Samoas first thing in the morning, yum.




I want
I want
I want
I want someone to feel my skin and really feel it.
I want
I want
I want
I want someone to hold me and feel all my joy and being and darkness and tragedy and irony and sadness.
I want someone to spar with words - someone who loves to play the way that I play.
I want
I want
I want
I want someone to understand that I am all things, not one thing. And all these things are true.
I want someone to love my mind. More importantly -
I want someone to love my heart.
I want
I want
I want
I want someone to hold me.
I want someone to hold me really tightly, like I'm not going to be let go, at least, not easily.
I want someone strong enough to stay holding me.
I want someone strong enough to let me unleash my true self, the part that are all things.
I want
I want
I want
I want

I want you to see me again.