What I rambled to myself the other day

28.08.09

I don't know what I want.

Of course I'm starting this talking about myself; I'm the only person that seems real to me, and then sometimes that reality isn't any more true than anyone else. It is only because I have to believe in myself.

We're all supposed to have a dream that we aspire to. So that when, if, it comes trye we can say the clichéd 'living the drea'. But how do we know what are individual dreams are when we have a steretypical dream shoved down our throats from day one? Like so many other children I was brought up on a diet of Disney. I can remember crying at the death of Mufasa, hiding behind the sofa as Gaston tried to kill the Beast and rejoicing at the love between Hercules and Meg. And - here we go with another contradiction - I don't think there is anything wrong with a child believing in a happy ending.

Even though they don't happen in real life.

How can I be so cynical at 19? Eurgh. Nearly wrote '17'. Do I still see myself as the immature 17 year old that I was? I really don't feel any different. No more mature, emotionally, at least. How could I be 'emotionally mature' when I am terrified of feeling?

I want to have that raw hope that we're supposed to have when we are young; The determination that we can change the world, that love will happen, that we don't have to be scared, that we can make our dreams (whatever they are) come true. I don't want to be scared and cynical and mean and rude and afraid. It sure does suck for wanting to have a 'normal' life. (Ok I do think that my life is 'normal' in the mundane, everyday sense). For example the most exciting that that has happened to me was bumping into my ex. Which is on a par with this fashion course that I really want to do. And the fact that I have become passionate about fashion.

God. I'm growing up into a cliché. A hypocritcal cliché! But I don't see what's so wrong with that.

Well, I mean, (Yes, I know I'm doing an English degree) I know that I lack emotional skills. I love my family - I would die for them - even though we don't always see eye to eye on certain subjects. It's what family does. I love my friends. They are always there for me. Through everything. They know me, better than I care to admit most of the time. And fortunately, better than they care to let on too.

But Eros love? The love that supposedly makes the world go round? The love that everyone secretly craves?

That's the kind of love that leaves me cold. The thought of that painstaking craving for love panics me into a denial of its existence. How can that sort of love survive when the entire world is so selfish and focussing 'I'? I know that I am responsible for this self-obsessing as much, if not more, than the next person, but I don't even have the capacity to share myself with someone else.

Why would I want to open up and be vulnerable? Why would I want to put my emotional gravity in someone else's hands? Why would I trust someone who cares for me, because that fact in itself shows that they are not worth the time or effort? I am an open person. Everyone knows everything about me. Ish.

But everything is different when you are drunk. Oh the joys of drunken talks, explosions of love and hate for your fellow drunkards. But to declare your love for someone when you are innebriated is all very well, but I do think it defeats the point - but that doesn't mean whatever is spewed isn't true.

In reality I know that anything I have voiced within my own mind 24hours prior to drinking will get splurged through the course of the night, along with vomit, dizziness and greasy chips.

Just because you say it drunk doesn't mean it isn't true. In fact it probably is true but you were too afraid to say it out loud, when sober and aware of your sense; the ones that warn you, telling you that you are an IDIOT for thinking them.

Yet I also think feelings that are blurted out when trollied should be ignored. You may now know how someone feels about you, or your crush now knows that they are the love of your life, but whoever is at the receiving end will respect you so much more if you manage to pluck up the courage to say it with pure, un-altered, tee-totalled emotion.

You know. Where you can't find the words, (instead of saying the same over and over again) where your palms are sweaty with fear of rejection, (instead of the drunken sweats) and you keep thinking to yourself that this is going to end badly - which it might - (instead of thinking that you are God's gift).

Everyone wants love. It surely is a very deluded person who denies this. Even I, with all my immature cynicism, want love. Terrified of the prospect becuase losing love is more painful than anything I could ever shoose to bear, but do I want it? There is no doubt in my mind. And what saddens me is that I want the fairytale ending; I wanting Disney to come along and write my ending where everything sorts itself out. Am I going to argue with my future love for a while before we realise we love each other? Is it a best friend that I never realised I loved? Even if it is the weirdo down the street, I just want to know who it is so I can that part of my life sorted. So I can then focus on the rest of my life.

Because without love, I can't concentrate on anything else.

For someone so cynical I spend far too much time thinking about the one thing that sends me running in the opposite direction. And that isn't even an exaggerationg. I mean, with the last man in my life, honestly I really did care about him (I feel confident to talk in the past tense now because I haven't thought about him in that way for a long time) and he made me happy and I was opening up(!) but of course I got scraed and ran away. Ok, it is more complicated than that, but in a nutshell, I can't deny it.

That's why I write this; because somewhere in the world someone said the first way to get over a problem is to accept that you have one. I have one. I am terrified of love. And I love myself. So I don't want to change. (Ok, not like creepily obsessed with myself, probably no more than your average 19 year old). Yet I can't halp thinking that my entire world is going round in circles and I'm just climbing a spiral staircase to somewhere that I might not like.

Back at the ranch...

Wow! Was I in a helluva mood when I wrote that?! Ha. I know it's quite difficult to read; in fact where I save my ramblings on my laptop is in a file called 'Narratives', or 'Streams of Consciousness'. I can never tell you what I'm going to write. It just comes out.
I know most of it doesn't make sense but it helps me to write... Think of yourselves as my guidance councellors! Literally, feel free to write down any advice if you think it's necessary. Just don't expect me to use it.

Bon nuit.
Ciao Bellas. Xx