I saw the first episode of Californication, and its been way too long for me to relate to someone so deeply.
WHY? Because I believe in screwing things up. I believe in avoiding happiness to the extent that no matter where I step in, it is the last contender of my attention. Do i hate myself? No. Do I love myself? No. What do I want? Its not happiness.
It has been very long since I talked about movies, but now I know why. I haven't been writing because i haven't seen a movie that would move me enough. And that is because I have been watching stupid romantic comedies or romantic dramas. Now why the fuck is that? I guess its because I needed that lack of profoundness in my own life. Or maybe because I wanted someone to make me feel not-alone. But the fucking paradox is that the moment i find happiness knocking at my door and inviting me for a freaking party of love, i want to run away. I want it to stop and never chase me because I can never understand or acknowledge it. Why would I want to acknowledge happiness, it is a much deserved thing for almost everyone. And why the fuck am I even complaining, I have a life that is better than half of the world (given how many people die of lack of food every DAY). I have a perfect healthy life, but these times are like those of war. The misery and chaos of the world starts reflecting and resonating in your own life. The world is ending, it really is and when it will, we'll be running for shelters, because no one built a dream house safety abode for us.
So, the choice is either of a Forrest Gump innocence or Hank Moody misery. Would I be pleased with myself if i stopped bothering about my inspirations, and just innocently kept moving in a path i believe will do me good, or should i keep chasing the misery because that keeps me inspired but constantly craving. I don't fucking understand, i don't fucking get it. I tried to drown myself in alcohol last night, and was left feeling sick and disoriented. I am getting pent up, like a very big hurricane swirling inside me, and god knows what it will make me do next. I have done something that i am already ashamed of,, but do i want that again. Hurting yourself leaves marks, and marks never fade away, they settle like ruins on your skin. Ruins of fortresses.
The effort that it takes to move away from the natural urge of companionship and be happy in your little private space is TREMENDOUS. It took me an year to get on the first step of this very fulfilling staircase. And now life has presented me with an opportunity of beautiful happiness and company, a wonderful man who can and will love me at my best and worst.
I need peace.
But then, what is peace?
WHY? Because I believe in screwing things up. I believe in avoiding happiness to the extent that no matter where I step in, it is the last contender of my attention. Do i hate myself? No. Do I love myself? No. What do I want? Its not happiness.
It has been very long since I talked about movies, but now I know why. I haven't been writing because i haven't seen a movie that would move me enough. And that is because I have been watching stupid romantic comedies or romantic dramas. Now why the fuck is that? I guess its because I needed that lack of profoundness in my own life. Or maybe because I wanted someone to make me feel not-alone. But the fucking paradox is that the moment i find happiness knocking at my door and inviting me for a freaking party of love, i want to run away. I want it to stop and never chase me because I can never understand or acknowledge it. Why would I want to acknowledge happiness, it is a much deserved thing for almost everyone. And why the fuck am I even complaining, I have a life that is better than half of the world (given how many people die of lack of food every DAY). I have a perfect healthy life, but these times are like those of war. The misery and chaos of the world starts reflecting and resonating in your own life. The world is ending, it really is and when it will, we'll be running for shelters, because no one built a dream house safety abode for us.
So, the choice is either of a Forrest Gump innocence or Hank Moody misery. Would I be pleased with myself if i stopped bothering about my inspirations, and just innocently kept moving in a path i believe will do me good, or should i keep chasing the misery because that keeps me inspired but constantly craving. I don't fucking understand, i don't fucking get it. I tried to drown myself in alcohol last night, and was left feeling sick and disoriented. I am getting pent up, like a very big hurricane swirling inside me, and god knows what it will make me do next. I have done something that i am already ashamed of,, but do i want that again. Hurting yourself leaves marks, and marks never fade away, they settle like ruins on your skin. Ruins of fortresses.
The effort that it takes to move away from the natural urge of companionship and be happy in your little private space is TREMENDOUS. It took me an year to get on the first step of this very fulfilling staircase. And now life has presented me with an opportunity of beautiful happiness and company, a wonderful man who can and will love me at my best and worst.
I need peace.
But then, what is peace?
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