Speechless and overwhelmed

The closest thing to living twice is knowing that your death and your happiness is also another person’s.

Of all the foreign new feelings, it is taking me the longest to adjust to feeling loved. To be pulled to stay another 30 minutes, to hug and kiss one more time, I don’t think words provide a better expression of love. I remembered a picture that I saw in a video game a few years ago. It showed a guy being pulled by a girl, as he tried to put down his glass of wine. I remembered feeling bitter sadness. What I mean is sadness that is caused not only by deprivation but by jealousy as well.

It feels as if I passed a long test of patience, and I was finally rewarded. Not just since being a teenager, but since being a kid when my parents felt as adversaries most of the time. As if all the cheesy repetitive words of encouragement became true all at once. The same words of encouragement that I criticized in-depth and rejected for being generic, inaccurate, and insincere.

I overthink every date: what to say, and more importantly, what to wait much much later before saying. Yet, every time it seems to go in the best direction regardless of my plans. I am not often speechless. But I write today for the same reasons that I started the blog: having too many thoughts and feelings. Maybe the only reason my writing improved over the years is that I understood what I felt as time went by.

These days, my feelings are new and foreign. I struggle, as I did a few years ago, to express them. I feel numb for a few days after we meet. I remember and I feel, but I struggle to conjure up more than the generic “I love her”. It is overwhelming, and I grieve for the day it stops being so.

Painting-World-2
Image source: Braid (a video game)
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A night darker than average

 

The night was darker than average, and in my dark room what I feared most was invisible.
My thoughts were summarizing all my memorable experiences. It was all tiring, both living them and recalling them.
I heard familiar voices outside discussing general matters.
Am I dead?
(“It’s just a chemical imbalance in the brain. When there’s something wrong with your stomach, you take medications. It isn’t different with the brain.”)

I cannot deny this evil feeling I am trying to keep hidden.
I am evil, inherently evil. I can see the big picture now; all these memories fit together. They’re telling me the truth. I am evil.
(“Remember to say: I am ALLOWING these thoughts to negatively affect me.”)

I am tired of living and recalling, and this is a reasonable time of the year to feel tired. This isn’t patience, it’s uselessness and wishful waiting. You were right, Steve, you were right all along.
(“Give the bad voice in your head a name. Call him Steve! Now whenever Steve is talking to you, catch him. Call him on it. Say it in your head: “Steve is talking to me again.”)

 

 

Good things don’t happen to us, and we don’t deserve them

Today, 10 years from today, and 100 years from today are all the same.

You are only an actor in a play, what is yours is to play the assigned part well, not to choose the part (1). That’s what someone said hundreds of years ago. I find it curious that he was a slave; that he was assigned a terrible role in this play.

Really, why would a happy person bother with roles and plays?

It is curious that his quote is needed only by those with terrible parts. If I believed him, then I might as well believe that there is a special place in heaven for me. Where everything will be compensated.

I might as well believe that incredible patience is the best of qualities. I might also believe I will live forever in heaven, never bored of having everything everyone could want at all times with no purpose but being happy.

I wonder if habitants of heaven are allowed to be sad, or if they are relegated to hell if they ever feel sad. How ungrateful! How especially ungrateful to feel sad despite God’s best offering!

Maybe people with great parts can be equally miserable. But I am unsure if I only believe it because I’m clueless. Clueless of what how it feels to be happy; to be sufficient in what you have and not searching for something unknown.

Even if God offered me the choice between heaven and hell, I wouldn’t know what to choose. It would be unbearable to go to heaven, and to have every possible pleasure, but to still be miserable. It would mean that I could never even begin to comprehend happiness.
But it would be unbearable as well to go to hell. At some point, there will be a confrontation. I will have to explain to myself that after incredible patience comes infinite patience; acceptance, submission, and surrender. I will have to wonder about the possibility that I was one of those who enjoyed their lives, or one of those who went to heaven and remained happy.

It is too much to ask, even of God. It is audacious to refuse the best and the worst, and to ask for something unknown. Something that is either better than the best, worse than the worst, or something in-between.

 

(1) Source: Manual of Epictetus